Submission is for Job Applications and Poetry Contests

Literally, I have several unfinished drafts and too many open tabs and a gaping hole in my bedroom ceiling where the fan used to be...so the last topic I need to worry about is submissiveness in other people's relationships.

Yet here I am opining on some nonsense, instead of trying to micro-blog it on the Book of Faces or writing a thread about it on the Dodo Bird App that no one will see because I refuse to pay the $8 monthly ransom for visibility. Therefore, here is your annual reminder from me that these man-baby tantrums y'all are having on social media about grown women's choices are why half of you are still living with your single Mamas.

Before we get too far into this, allow me to say that I am not commenting on any specific celebrity couple, but you can select the duo that resonates with you and feel free to agree or disagree as necessary. As an opening statement, I believe that we are all entitled to dance to the beat of our own drummer in relationships, including the celebrities who put their business out in the world for all to see. Everything ain't for everybody, as the old folks say, so it's okay if you aren't down with whatever the kids are doing these days.

Having said that, of course, the entire point of social media is to share, and as significant aspects of celebrity livelihood depends on what we know about their lives, once they post in on da' Gram, then they expect you to have an opinion. In the past few years, Auntie has opined on a variety of issues: driveway therapists, hair bonnets in public, Lizzo, and the "requirements" that some men have for dating, and I welcome you to peruse my archives to get my take on those topics. My issue isn't about your inalienable right to an opinion, but with how you say what you feel compelled and/or obligated to say. Just recently, I issued a preliminary warning about how some of y'all think being racist, sexist, homophobic, etc., is merely an exercise of your free speech until those consequences come back to bite you.

For the most part, I don't believe too many of my readers are rolling with the Polo Tiki Torch Club racists, so let's address the sexism and misogynoir disguised as tradition and respectability. Because some of you really need to be called out for the way you talk about and expect to be treated by grown women in relationships.

A few months ago, this picture of Rihanna and A$AP Rocky with their son had Blue Ivy's internet in a tizzy. Some of y'all were hot that this young father was demonstrating affection while standing in the background behind his partner. I read a number of complaints of how emasculating this image was, when to me, it was a beautiful family photo, especially after we all learned that there was another baby on the way. If anything, the only controversial thing is the child's name (because RZA ain't even his government name)...but again, if that's what the kids are doing these days Imma scroll on and mind my business.

VOGUE is the fashion Bible, and RiRi, one of its Apostles has graced their cover countless times (this was the British edition). She has a fashion line, a cosmetics company, and as an It-girl of this decade, rightfully is in the forefront of this picture as the article that was written is about HER. The fact that her Bajan boys were even included in the photo, when most women featured in the magazine are highlighted for their solo accomplishments, should have shut down all of the ashy attempts at deconstructing the dynamics of their relationship.

Of course, it should be assumed that if one is unashamed to go forth amongst the people unlotioned, then that same level of audacity fuels most of their questionable opinions and decisions. A bunch of these same dudes idolized that brother from Jos A. Bank who moonlighted as a relationship expert until he died under the most ironic circumstances. They still quote his relationship advice while complaining about splitting checks on a first date at the Olive Garden, and we're supposed to take their opinions on Rihanna and how she minds her business seriously?

I get a lot of laughs while reading the polarized takes on how real men ought to assert themselves in relationships. It tracks that many of these are the musings of dudes who spent too much time with their uncles in the barber shop, but failed to notice the frequent address changes and the ever-changing number of cousins from various situationships. Uncle Eddie's definition of submission is to brag about how his woman fixes his plate because he's the king of his household; in reality, she does that to keep an eye on his diet, lest he ends up in another diabetic coma.

(I need to point out that I while my examples come from a specific cultural vantage point, there are parallels. I see those burly mid-westerners carrying their wives' purses at various tourist attractions and I chuckle to think what manner of lies they tell about being in charge.)

Listen to those Alpha male traditionalists on social media if you want, but behind the closed blinds, most of them don't run shit but errands. That's not intended as an insult lest you think being a reliable, stable, and dependable presence in one's family isn't the point of being "the man" in the household. The way I see it, you're still a man regardless of how the labor and expenses are divided, unless you're hung up on semantics and outward appearances. Nobody has to know anything as long as you keep your business out of the tweets. 

If you're more engaged in showcasing relationship "goals" instead of being in the relationship, for better or worse, then you'll never understand how your parents and grandparents stayed together for 50+ years. For starters, they weren't starring in a never-ending reality show with cameras documenting every aspect of their lives. And trust me, it wasn't because those were so-called traditional relationships with a dominant male figurehead and a submissive female servant. What you saw was a private partnership, not a public power struggle. You saw two people who had enough respect for each other to disagree and still put forth a united front to the world as necessary. You saw two people who celebrated each other, made mistakes and took accountability, and who worked hard to stay together in spite of everything.

Everything. Double shifts. Flirty co-workers. Unpaid bills. Children. In-laws. Somebody finding Jesus. Someone losing their religion. Chronic illness. Stagnation. Midlife crises. Menopause. Grief. Success. I could keep going, but you get the point. And in the event that your grandparents or parents didn't arrive at that golden milestone, it makes a lot more sense to learn from their mistakes than to follow the advice from a bunch of online hecklers and haters who revel in other people's misery.

Which brings us to the point where I admit that I lied..

Of course, I saw the video of Keke Palmer dancing with Usher in a bathing suit and cover-up. And I saw the tweet her man should NOT have sent while he was home alone, horny and drunk with a restless baby. And I saw where sides were chosen, and hard lines were drawn before she even got home. AND THEN I saw where the entire incident became a CNN news-worthy headline instead of staying on the gossip blogs like the rumors about Tyler Perry buying BET.

And, well since it is already out there in the Twitterverse, left on Blue Ivy's internet for us to express our opinions (because all he had to do was send her a text message), now Auntie feels compelled to offer some advice from her Busy Black Book of Wisdom:

    Dear Keke,

        Can I start off by saying that I am still trying to wrap my head around the fact that you are grown-grown, as in little Akeelah is almost 30 (and my old azz just wasn't ready to accept that yet)? So after I got over that shock to my system, I just feel the need to restate that fact for the people in the cheap seats, including that man you have (had?) living in your house--you a grown ass woman!

        Thus, there really isn't much more that I should have to say, unless I am expressing my opinion on your outfit, which I am not. Because you already know that you are a mother, having carried and birthed that baby with your own body, so that ain't no newsflash. However, since the talk in these tweets has been over the audacity of that man who lives (lived?) in your house to make public a disagreement that has obviously been a bone of contention between you, let Auntie offer a little advice: Move on.

        Move on and try to figure out how you plan to co-parent your son with an insecure man-baby who thought he was making some giant leap for manhood in trying to have the last word in an argument by telling a grown ass woman how she ought to conduct herself in public. Then, instead of realizing the folly in airing his private relationship business in the tweets, he doubled down and then made matters worse with this very mature response (after aligning himself with two poster boys of male fragility Con Baybay and the Muskrat). Allegedly, he's deleted pictures of YOU from his IG page, so even if that original post was not typical behavior, he has now shown you who he really is 🚩 

        Now, I happen to enjoy petty, and if you had waited a week or so to get with Beyonce on a remake of Irreplaceable before releasing your new line of merch, then I might have been inclined to buy a tee shirt. Because she's a Mom too, and you don't see Jay Z issuing public rebukes of her attire or behavior (nor will he ever after Lemonade). I'm not comparing your situation to theirs, but I am pointing out that however Jay might feel about what his wife wears on stage or for promotional photos is irrelevant because no one bothers to ask him. Even if some ashy dude pumped full of audacity thought to inquire how Jay feels about his half-naked wife straddling a glass horse, I'm pretty sure Jay wouldn't take the bait.

        Because not only is Beyonce a mother and a grown ass woman with that body after three children, she is also an entertainer. It is her J-O-B. It is Usher's JOB to give a show during his Las Vegas residency that includes serenading women in the audience. And I'm clear that it is also your JOB as a celebrity attendee at the Usher show to give a performance that entices other women to want a chance at the same experience. With everyone else being clear about their roles and responsibilities, why come your man (ex?) had to throw his ego in the mix as if any of this was about him?

        I mean, what's up with the insecurity when just hours before all of this went down, you and dude had been rolling in the deep (because you posted this), so what happened? As if he hadn't posted pictures of you wearing something equally risqué in the past? If you were at the beach or the hotel pool bar, instead of front row at the Usher show...

And now it all makes sense. This was never about what Keke was wearing, but the fact that she was seen enjoying herself with another man in public. Old boy was upset that image was going to make him look some kind of way, so he lashed out. And then suggested that he was only doing what any self-respecting man in his position would do to protect his ego. As I've said many times, when someone cannot control you, they will attempt to control how others see you.

You a Mom. Those three words might as well have parted the Red Sea. Because for every person who saw and understood Keke's joie de vivre at getting out for a few hours of much needed girl fun in Vegas (where what happens there is supposed to stay there), there were the furious slings and arrows of judgment coming from every angle. Deeper than trying to shame her was the implication that motherhood had stripped her of any agency, any power, any freedom she previously enjoyed. 

You a Mom, living with a man who exerted his prerogative to decide when to flaunt her assets on these same social media platforms. It was all good when he was posting the pics, but problematic when someone else did? You a Mom, because her body was for him to expose and exploit, not for her to be wiggling and giggling in a club with Usher. Three loaded words that revealed so much.

Such is the subtlety of misogyny, communicating several diminishing messages, delivered in a seemingly innocuous manner. We joke that this should have been kept private in a text, but the result would have been the same (just ask Sarah Brady about Jonah Hill). Offline, who knows what else he's said about her body, her clothes, or how she conducts herself in public? If you've read some of the responses posted in support of him, you would think she was lucky that he had attached himself to her. That as long as he was in her life, at least she could dream of a happily ever after (because the only thing worse than being a spinster is being a single mother). Now look at her, branded with a scarlet letter...You a Mom, but not a wife.

I'm not reaching because I've read the first chapter in the Gospel of Submissiveness. Some of y'all resurrected Kevin Samuels; some of y'all are finishing up dissertations and Sunday sermons; and this dude gave a 30-minute TED Talk (of which I only got through a little over 5 minutes because I don't have that kind of time). So let me save you from learning this lesson the hard way--submission is another way of allowing someone to control you. You have a choice if that's the kind of relationship you want; it is not a requirement. Anyone who expects submissiveness and regards it as a prerequisite to commitment or building a life with you doesn't regard you as an equal but as a subordinate. As my Mom made it clear to me and anyone else who had issues with her outspoken independence, she was nobody's doormat. And just so you know, my parents have been married for 50 years.

PS: I'm not buying a tee shirt because I'm waiting to see what happens next. One of the other truisms about these social media relationships is how a lot of stuff is staged, so Imma wait to see that duet with Beyonce.

The Proud Family

This was one of several unfinished works-in-progress that I had in my drafts for over a year. Who knew that the pendulum of tolerance would swing so violently in that time? --ADH

A couple of years ago, I wrote a piece that expressed my frustrations with the commercial embrace of PRIDE Month, specifically the blatant rainbow labels on everything and the hideous offerings of rainbow-adorned clothing being sold at major retailers. I haven't changed my tune, in case you were wondering (because so far, things are not much better this year). But I want to be clear that my issue was not with the celebration of PRIDE, so if you were hoping that I would be firing up a tiki torch to set bonfires with the polo shirt and khaki pants brigade, you should stop reading now.

Last year I came to the conclusion that the corporate chase of the rainbow did indeed lead to a pot of gold. And I realized this after the Hub, the Kid, and I attended our very first Pride Parade. Last June marked the in-person return of the Capital Pride Parade from its COVID hiatus, and so when I tell you that there were terrible rainbow tutus and sequined Mork from Ork suspenders in abundance, I am not exaggerating. I was almost embarrassed that I wasn't wearing something equally tacky. Almost...

I intended to share these two stories to re-emphasize the point that declaring a commitment to being an ally of the LGBTQIA+ community must mean more than wearing the right tee or tutu to your local Gay Pride parade. To think that I was so proud of myself for not getting taken in by the commercialism, only to realize that what I assumed was the fickle and faddish support of PRIDE could have broader consequences. Who would have thought that in 2023 folks would be boycotting companies like Starbucks over their support of the LGBTQIA community? Some of those people have been losing their minds over rainbows on children's clothes (so guess what I just bought for my family from Target this past weekend...)

Story #1 - Eating Out

Yes, I need you to read into that title. Our trio traveled to NYC for the Memorial Day holiday weekend, planned weeks in advance by the Hub who had arranged accommodations at an Air BnB in the Bushwick neighborhood of Brooklyn. In case you don't already know this about me, I have terrible packing anxiety, the kind that has only worsened with age despite years of experience, but glory be, on this Saturday, we managed to leave the house and arrive in NYC while it was still light outside! We found street parking, found our lodging, and the Hub picked out a local restaurant where we could catch dinner at a reasonable hour. BUT...

Yeah, it was all too good to be true. I will save the Air BnB fiasco for another time (quick synopsis addressed here) and skip ahead to where all of the signs clearly indicated that our good fortune in stress-free travel had been too good to be true. We headed out on foot to the pre-selected restaurant, but in the wrong direction, and after walking several blocks the Hub decided to hail a Lyft. By this time, the sun had begun to set, so by the time we were deposited on the corner in front of a restaurant right before 9pm, we assumed it was the place we had been trying to find. It was open air and not busy, so the hostess told us to choose a table, and we headed to a spot up against a wall. Instantly, I spotted some "colorful" artwork and then did a quick scan of the entire wall and took note that there was a theme. For once, the Hub also noticed, so we quickly re-seated ourselves at a table in the middle of the room.

Once we were settled, he handed the Kid his phone to keep her distracted while we discussed our options. At this point, I had completed a full survey of the restaurant decor and determined that it was not, shall we say, kid-friendly. The other patrons included a couple on a date, a few folks at the bar, and a table full of folks who were doing the typical Saturday night pre-game gathering of friends (something that us old-marrieds-with-child tend to forget happens in real life). Should we stay since it was already late and the Kid probably hadn't seen anything too risqué (yet)? What would be the likelihood that we could leave and grab a table at another restaurant as quickly? If we did leave, what would be our rationale? Are we those over-zealous parents who think children ought to be shielded from everything or are we these wannabe hip urban adventurers with a Kid in Montessori? How bad could it get, I wondered...

No need to drag this out for the sake of suspense because all went well. Although neither the menu nor the decor were TGIFridays family-friendly, the chef sent us out a plate of fries and that made the Kid happy. Our food and drinks were great, the server was cool and patient, and I found a way to avoid having to explain why there was a picture of two naked women kissing when I took her to the bathroom. We left and discovered that the restaurant where we had intended to go was around the corner next door, but it was crowded and loud, so I have nothing bad to report about our experience at Maite. 

Story #2 - When In Rome

In fact, our positive dining experience at Maite is what convinced me that we ought to affirmatively go to the DC Pride festivities two weeks later. If we are in fact these wannabe hip urban adventurers I believed us to be, then why not attend the parade? Again, what is the worst that would happen during the day?

As it turns out, nothing. We got a late start, so I assumed we had missed everything, but we went anyway and got there in time to see plenty of floats, bands, and corporate product placement. It was packed with people, all excited to finally be free from social distancing. Although we were still cautiously masked, the gentleman I was standing with just chatted me up about everything from what we missed to the church he attended as if COVID nor my mask were concerns. He was more intrigued by what had compelled us to bring our then 7-year old to the parade, so I shared my thoughts on aspiring to be a wannabe hip urban adventurer with a Kid in Montessori. In other words, when in Rome...

But more importantly, I explained that I have to set an example of tolerance and acceptance for my daughter in a world that is very different than the one in which I was raised. She has already come into contact with children whose gender identification is fluid; in fact, before the summer ended, she had befriended a trans child and seemed nonchalant that their identity might be polarizing to adults. I'm pretty sure that unlike most urban adventurers, the fact that we haven't encountered that many families with same gender-loving parents is an anomaly. So if anything, attending the Pride Parade should feel as normal as going to a National's baseball game, complaining about the tourists during Cherry Blossom season, or making a special effort to drive by the White House Christmas tree. We live here and should take full advantage of all the special events and perks that come with living in the Nation's Capital. 

Just Say Gay

And if that had included Drag Queen Storytime when the Kid and I were regulars on the library story hour circuit, we would have been there! If her enthusiastic love for RuPaul's Drag Race is any indication, I would have had to move heaven and earth for her not to miss a moment. Her current obsession with the show was an unexpected fluke--one Friday night she came downstairs while I was flipping channels and the next thing I knew she had memorized the contestants' names and had designated her favorite queen. Kids like what they like, something the Hub and I have learned in spite of our efforts to steer her tastes away from shows like Bubble Guppies and generic recycled anime. That doesn't mean we can't influence what she watches; instead, it means we allow her to discover what she likes as long as it isn't harmful.

Harmful is the intolerant environment that has been created by these modern-day witch trials and scarlet lettering. One would think the cautionary tales of intolerance and repression as told by LGBTQIA Boomers and Gen Xers would have warned against this current climate. Of course it did, but those over-zealous culture warriors are relentless and shameless in their adherence to the rigid gender roles as assigned at birth. Those people don't care if queer children are more vulnerable to suicidal ideations, or if they run away from home, or if they become addicts. Those people don't have hearts or minds to which appeals for compassion can be made. Those people are why support organizations like The Trevor Project, GLAAD, GLSEN, and PFLAG are so necessary. In spite of their macho Alpha-male bravado, those people are threatened by the sight of men wearing dresses.

But apparently not all men in dresses, since I have yet to see the same organized fervor taken against the Catholic Church as I have seen in the past year against drag queens. Or did I miss any of the armed protests that were organized against Friday Night Bingo at St. Aloysius? Don't worry, I'm not only calling out the Church (especially since the Southern Baptists and the Mormons deserve just as much smoke, if not more), but I can tell you that more children were harmed by those clergy sexual abuse scandals than have been harmed by listening to Mistress Petty Pat read And Tango Makes Three. 

So let's not gloss over the fact that many of the loudest "Christians" who have been yelling crucify them at the LGBTQIA community happen to be members of fundamentalist congregations. Particularly in the case of the Southern Baptists, this entire crusade seems like a massive deflection from their denominational failure to root out and condemn the sexual violence committed within their ranks. The conflation of acceptance and tolerance as "grooming" is intentional given how many of those same people have advocated against choice in reproductive health care for women; supported book bans and efforts to promote anti-racism, diversity, and inclusion; and justified their bigotry as an expression of faith in order to self-righteously condemn everyone who disagrees with them as godless. 

As I reflect back on that night from almost a year ago, all I knew at the time was that we had chosen to stay at a restaurant other than the one where we had intended to eat. That choice was not meant to be a political statement, but it has become symbolic of the kind of allyship we want to impart to our daughter. Because no, we are not those people (nor are we all that hip or adventurous as parents); however, we are the kind of parents who hope that she respects the humanity in everyone. I proudly accept being called godless by those people because I don't worship their gods and false idols. My God doesn't restrict love to man-made traditions. My God is love, and He put the rainbow in the sky as a covenant to us of that love. 

Therefore, when I see the rainbows and the ever-expanding acronym of people who find meaning in each color, my first reaction isn't one of anger. Because how is there a hidden agenda in a tee shirt that depicts a dinosaur shooting rainbow beams from its eyes at spaceships (when neither dinosaurs nor spaceships exist)? How does a swimsuit with a tucking feature affect my child if she doesn't need to wear that? And why should I be triggered if some shy adult needs that feature so that they can feel more confident and comfortable? I am the Busy Black Woman, so trust, I don't have time to record a shaky TikTok video of myself looking and sounding deranged over the clothing selection at Target. I won't be stalking anyone in a public bathroom to demand to know whether they were born male or female. Nor would I shoot up full cans of beer that I bought because I don't like that one of their spokesmodels dresses like Holly Golightly.

And shame on Anheuser-Busch for bowing to that bigotry! To any other corporate brand that is contemplating how best to respond to this backlash, the right thing to do is stand firm. If your options include full or even a partial retreat then I guess I was right to be skeptical about all of this back in 2019. Y'all are just selling us shit covered in rainbows. 

Allyship isn't a fad nor is it a marketing strategy. PRIDE isn't supposed to conform to the politics of heteronormative respectability. And whether those people like it or not, the LGBTQIA movement won't be shamed back into the closet. Anyone who embraces repression and discrimination will find themselves on the losing side of history--maybe not in the short-term, but eventually. Because the moral arc of the rainbow is long, but it bends towards justice.

 

Fake Feminism

I was called a fake feminist because I don't have an issue with a transwoman becoming a model for Kate Spade. This happened on the Book of Faces, where I had posted my musings about the ridiculousness of being offended about some influencer/TikTok model when we have much bigger issues. I mean, the world is on fire, but let's focus our righteous indignation on who should wear a pink poofy dress. However, before I get started, let us send up a round of applause for that commentor who thought she was insulting me:

Welcome to the Busy Black Woman's new feature, The Library. 

Interestingly enough, I had been planning to address this issue long before this exchange. I have been concerned about the growing tension with our mothers and grandmothers from the second-wave of feminism who aren't quite sure of how to welcome transwomen into our midst. After all, when they were burning bras and denouncing the patriarchy in the 60s and 70s, the closet doors had only opened a crack with the Stonewall uprising.

Sixty years after Betty Friedan published The Feminine Mystique, here we are, on the last day of Women's History Month (also Transgender Day of Visibility*), in the year of our Lord 2023, worried about who gets to be called a woman. Well, transwomen are women. Period. 

I understand why that might be a concern for the patrons in a Kate Spade boutique, but as for me and my space, I said what I said. Maybe this would bother me if I were on the hunt for a pink poofy dress to wear on Easter Sunday, but I'm not. My Kid's birthday is on Easter Sunday this year and I'm trying to decide if we can spare a few eggs to dye given these high prices. And pink is not my color...

Therefore, I find it rather curious that we are now defining feminism in such a narrow-minded way since I was taught that the central point of the movement was to upend the notion that biology determines our choices and destiny. Originally, we wanted girls to grow up to believe that they could be anything because they are more than the functioning of their reproductive organs. So how am I a fake feminist because I believe in choice, not just for women but also for men? And because I regard that right to choose as inclusive of one's gender identity? How sway...

All of us come to some pivotal moment in our lives when we get to decide who and what we are. Perhaps it was in elementary school at a career day assembly or maybe one day on some dead-end job when you decided that you had enough. Maybe one day you looked at yourself in the mirror and decided that you would dye your hair, pierce your tongue, or get a tattoo. Or maybe you would try on your mother's discarded makeup and realized how your eye color popped with the right shadow. After a particularly brutal encounter with a bunch of playground bullies, imagine feeling so worthless that you locked yourself in the bathroom with thoughts of suicide until you heard the lyrics to a song that reassured you that it would get better. 

Because my definition of feminism allows space for women who were born male, but who choose to live as women, I don't understand how that makes me fake. In this same society where women spend millions on artificial enhancements such as cosmetics, breast implants, and Brazilian Butt Lifts (BBLs), a transwoman who has had gender reassignment surgery is still just a man playing dress up? Does Caitlyn Jenner know that?

In this same country where the rights I was born with regarding my reproductive choices have been all but eliminated for my daughter, I ought to be mad about the outfits worn by an influencer on TikTok. I must say, after three years of pandemic, it finally feels good to shift my attention from the virus to more pressing life or death issues. I shouldn't worry my pretty little head about book bans, gun violence in schools, or whether hungry children receive free lunch, because it is far more important to keep drag queens from reading books to children at story time.

Should I leave it to the real men, born male, to decide if and when girls need access to menstruation products in school too?

Which brings me to the concerns of these older feminists who are worried that the inclusion of transwomen de-centers attention from women's overall struggle for equality. In my mind, it doesn't. Yes, it changes our language and how we frame certain issues. I have to get used to the concept of cis-gender as a way of distinguishing different kinds of women's issues. But it is a trick of the devil to convince us that discrimination against women is somehow more likely if we advocate for transwoman as well. Are we seriously going to act like the first wavers who didn't want to include women of color in the fight for suffrage? 

If so, then we're just a bunch mean girls who feel entitled to bully transwomen because we can ignore their unique plight. Since we never had the option of giving up the rights and privileges of patriarchy, we can express our resentment by denying transwomen seats at our lunch table. Just like the Plastics in high school, we can brand them as freaks and try to drive them away from any place they might find refuge. On Wednesdays we wear pink...

Take this sudden push for equity in girls' sports. Do you honestly believe this battle is being fought by a bunch of concerned girl dads who coach soccer or softball? You can't even watch the Women's NCAA Basketball championship games without cable, but the most pressing challenge is whether transwomen have unfair physiological advantages. Admittedly, that is a complex issue but if we've figured out how to make all kinds of other opportunities that were once only available to men accessible to women, we can figure this one out too.

Since this all started over a Kate Spade advertisement, let's offer an illustration of fake feminism by taking a trip to the nearest mall. Oh wait, there isn't a Kate Spade store at my local mall because it doesn't serve their core demographic. Instead, I can either travel downtown or out to the suburbs to get a look at the spring collection. Hmm, as I walk through the door, there is a $500 shaggy dog purse that greets me, and I think, how cute, maybe I can carry my car keys, lip gloss, and a few credit cards in it when I wear it to brunch on Easter Sunday. And oh look, here is the infamous pink dress with the poofy sleeves for $400, and a pair of white sandals for $260, so look a whole outfit for under $1200!

A feminist is more concerned that the salesperson receives a decent commission or that they earn enough to afford health coverage or that this job offers Family and Medical Leave. Instead of shaking my fists and expressing my outrage on social media that the model prancing around in a TikTok video used to be a man, I care that this young woman feels accepted for who she is and uses her platform to support others who need reassurance to find their truth. In my eyes, that makes her a more authentic woman than anyone who denounces her as a lady boy.

Finally, let me close this Library session by weeding out a few authors from the shelves, namely J.K. Rowling and Alice Walker. It pains me to admit that their divisiveness has become a distraction from the real shit that weighs us down. Because women shouldn't waste time on silly disagreements that benefit the patriarchy, so while we are arguing over who can call themselves women, the tyrants are running amok. From the Taliban banning women and girls from obtaining education; to Iranian protests; to legislation in states across this country that seek to restrict LGBTQIA+ rights. Transwomen aren't protected from harm because they used to be men. Oppression is everywhere. None of us can fight it on every front, but we can be allies and do no harm. 

To that end, I can admit that I am still learning and evolving, so I expect to be wrong about certain things, and I am willing to accept correction and be educated. I can tell you that I cringe at some of my past behaviors and opinions when it came to acknowledging the personhood and humanity in others, so I am not speaking from some self-righteous perch of having known the truth all along. As a card-carrying women's college alumna of almost 30 years, my identification as a feminist ain't some designer label I just adopted so that I could win arguments with strangers on Al Gore's internet.

You can take your selections to the check out desk and have a nice life. The Library is now closed.

* After working on this for most of the day, I found out that today is Transgender Day of Visibility, so I accept that as a sign that I am evolving in the right direction.

Blaming the Victim

It all began with my incredulous response to a bunch of tweets. The former Mayor of Atlanta, Keisha Lance Bottoms tweeted that she had been turned away from dining at the Perimeter Mall location of The Capital Grille (TCG) because she was wearing leggings. I was putting my Kid to bed after our return from her Spring Break, so I saw the Mayor's tweet a few hours after it had been initially posted. As I scrolled through the responses, I noted that several were in defense of the restaurant until I got to one dissenter who noted that TCG isn't really "fine dining" in the way that most non-suburbanites would describe. To which, I posted this tweet calling the incident weird.

Later in the middle of the night, jolted awake by a seven-year old elbow, I went to the bathroom where I did a little more scrolling and then fired off this quick 10-point rant to the Busy Black Woman Facebook page of the reasons why this incident struck me as absurd. Then I got sleepy and went back to bed. The next morning after proofreading and a few quick edits, I got ready for the rest of my day. And I guess in what must have been a mistake in the Facebook algorithm, my little rant generated quite a bit of traffic.

Now, because I don't know any of the people who commented, I will issue this disclaimer that I respect their right to have opinions, even if I think most of them are wrong. And that needs to be said at the outset since most were premised on the following erroneous assumptions:

1. That I said this incident was about race. I never said that.
2. The fact that I never addressed race isn't unusual, but the fact that people made that leap is interesting.
3. The fact that other people called it out as a racial incident isn't surprising.
4. I agree that race is a factor.
5. Race can be a factor and that doesn't make this incident *just* about race.

Even when we don't mention how an incident has racial overtones, the mere implication touches a nerve. One of the first negative comments I read (yes, I have trolls now!) sarcastically suggested that I go cry wolf somewhere else other than on my own Busy Black Woman page...

First off, whet?! Second, you don't know me like that homie. Third, why so triggered that someone else saw what I saw and commented that other non-Black patrons had posted pictures of themselves dressed casually in leggings, clearly happy and pleased that they had just eaten at TCG in celebration of whatever or whomever? (Imagine that--I liked a comment that supported my point!) Fourth, did you seriously expect that I would push back against the emerging narrative that there might have been an element of racial shenanigans at play? The nerve!

The nerve of those several white commenters who shared anecdotes on Twitter of how they had not been turned away from TCG, in spite of their "violations" of the dress code. I noted that these stories were shared based on visits to other TCG locations, because it is a chain restaurant. A fancy high end chain, with a dress code that is selectively enforced, depending on who might be manning the host desk that day. But we'll come back to that detail a little later. What I would like to emphasize again for all of the knee-jerkers in my comments is that at NO POINT did I state nor in the three tweets she posted about incident did the former Mayor of Atlanta blame racism as the reason why she was not seated. 

That is the conclusion y'all made. You saw some commentary written by someone calling herself a Busy Black Woman and made all kinds of assumptions about Democrats and Black racism against white people, neither of which has anything to do with dress codes and whether leggings are pants. No one directly involved has officially commented since Friday. However, since that is the hill upon which some folks are determined to die, perhaps you should reflect on why you immediately assumed race was at issue. Because for people who trip over themselves to deny the existence of racism, it seems rather odd that you would see some evidence of that which you claim does not exist. 

Don't hurt yourself trying to untangle that. 

For the commenters that questioned whether the host/hostess recognized the former Mayor, I am willing to concede that is a valid point. Notwithstanding the fact that I would recognize her even though I don't live in Atlanta (because she is my Soror and a rather prominent one, so there's that), I thought it was a given that a high profile elected official from the neighboring jurisdiction would be easy to spot. My bad for presuming that the former Mayor of Atlanta, who got a LOT of national attention during her four years in office, would still be recognized in public. I made that assumption in good faith seeing as how I live in a city full of Very Important Politicians, and not even the most unassuming former ones can escape being recognized by somebody. 

Therefore, allow me to address the "rules are rules" crowd, who fervently claim that the former Mayor of Atlanta was rightfully held to the same standards as everybody else, to which I call BULLSHIT. Exceptions to the rules are made all of the time, especially when it is believed that a certain person or group of people should be exempted. For example, while I was in Delaware last week, I went to purchase coffee and was asked if I was a teacher, public safety officer, medical professional, or a veteran to which I replied that I was none of the above. The cashier explained that if I did so identify, I would have been offered a 10% discount on my purchase. In that case, the rules (the posted price) would not have applied. Yes, I know that offering someone a discount on a cup of coffee isn't the same as allowing someone to enter a fine dining establishment at the mall, and I might be compelled to agree. 

Except when some of you rules are rules sticklers are the same folks protesting mask mandates. Because if it is a policy that is applicable to everyone, why is that is more problematic than a policy that is only enforceable against certain people? Surely, you see the irony, but if not, allow me to explain.

Dress codes are problematic precisely because they are subjectively enforced. While a policy of exclusion can specify what kinds clothing are considered objectionable, there typically are no clear standards that can be universally applied. One manager's interpretation of athletic attire might exclude NBA Hall of Famer Dominique Wilkins in a golf shirt and khakis while another manager would escort him to the best table in the house. Does the prohibition against tank tops mean that a woman dressed in this outfit from Banana Republic would be deemed unacceptable?

Would HRH Prince Charles be turned away if he showed up wearing a bowler hat? As Bottoms rightfully asked, how were her leggings more inappropriate than the other patron who was seated after she was turned away? We don't have pictures to make the comparison, but I'm pretty sure that the former Mayor, mother of four, was most likely dressed in tasteful athleisure on Good Friday at the Perimeter Mall.

But rules are rules, even if they are applied in an arbitrary manner.

So let's return to the classification of the restaurant because someone asked if I was comparing TCG to Red Lobster, and well yeah, I did. Because they are both chain restaurants. And guess what I found out: TCG is operated by Darden Restaurants, the same company that founded and used to operate Red Lobster (but not since 2014). Apparently, I wasn't that far off.

Now for the sake of argument, I will concede that TCG is a whole lot nicer than Red Lobster. I've eaten there a few times, and each time I must have been "dressed" appropriately. I don't recall ever witnessing anyone being turned away, not when I ate at the Manhattan location in the heart of touristy NYC after we had seen the Rockettes at Radio City Music Hall. Nor when I ate at the downtown DC location one hot August summer evening during Restaurant Week. And not even that time I had a casual lunch with a friend at the Chevy Chase location after I had just been shopping. I didn't even know that TCG had a dress code. 

Perhaps this is my liberal East Coast elitism showing, but any restaurant that sells gift cards and offers insider loyalty points hardly qualifies as fine dining. At best, TCG is where you take your family to eat after Junior's high school graduation or when your quirky Aunt Margaret stops by unannounced for a visit. Since I don't live in the suburbs, I don't frequent restaurants that are located in mall parking lots unless they have drive-thru windows. Therefore, I must side with Mayor Bottoms in her questioning of a policy that makes more practical sense in a downtown business district than it does for a location with curbside pickup parking. 

Furthermore, I stand by my statement that some of you have Stockholm syndrome if you are defending the dress code policy at what is essentially Longhorn Steakhouse without a kid's menu. The difference is that TCG intentionally overprices its menu and is situated in affluent neighborhoods to dissuade certain kinds of people from patronizing it. The dress code functions as an added layer of protection against those undesirables. Ask yourself who is more likely to be subjected to it: the argumentative people who stumbled onto my page to denounce me as racist or the Pick-Mees who tweeted back screenshots of the TCG dress code policy to the Mayor as justification for the way she was treated? It is for US--the same people who are always targeted by redlining, economic under-investment, over-policing, voter suppression, and other forms of discrimination. And some were too eager to chastise Bottoms with the quickness, as if more than a few of them had encountered the same snooty manager who had assured them that the policy was intended for the comfort of all guests and to better deliver on our promise of [the] refined atmosphere...from the parking lot at the Perimeter Mall??!!

A few weeks ago, it was the Ryan Cooglar incident at the Bank of America (also in Atlanta) that had same Pick-Mees tripping all over themselves on Al Gore's internet to defend the unfounded fears of a bank teller who was "just doing her job". Color me unconvinced that it was her job to call the police on a man who presented his photo identification while making a request to withdraw money from his own bank account. I almost joined the fray, because I wondered why he hadn't asked to see a manager instead of going to the window. Then I regained my senses--why was it necessary to excuse the teller's poor judgment when all she had to do was ask for the manager?

See how the devil works? He convinces us that before we can be justified in holding others accountable for their mistakes, we have to appear before the court of public opinion without any sins or blemishes of our own. If Ryan Coogler expected to withdraw that much money from his own account, then he should have called the bank to make an appointment with a manager, arrived 15 minutes earlier than the appointed time, and with his hat in hand waited patiently for them to decide whether to grant his request. If Keisha Lance Bottoms expected to secure a seat in the bar area of TCG, then she should have been dressed like she was scheduled to appear on a reunion episode of the Real Housewives of Atlanta. Or she should have gone to Ann Taylor and bought herself a pair of respectable pants or a mid-length skirt. 

And this is where I give all of these curious new commenters to my page what they came for--because I am BLACK and I know there are rules of respectability that are both written and implied. I understand the how harsh the penalties can be enforced against those of us who think too highly of ourselves in public spaces. None of us are exempt, no matter if we directed the highest grossing superhero film of all time or whether we are currently the Vice Chair of the DNC with a commentator side gig on CNN. Barack Obama is still paying the price for wearing a tan suit in the Oval Office, and y'all expect Oprah to apologize for Quick and Quack, Drs. Phil and Oz (but that ain't happening).

Because rules are rules...

The Sport of Kings

Some days, my people can be really exhausting. The day it was announced that Ralph Lauren would be releasing a limited-edition capsule collection of fashion inspired by the HBCU experience, I immediately got tired that morning and stayed lethargic for the rest of the day.

I wrote an abridged initial reaction on the Facebook page that covered the basics--yes, this is a good thing. No, it isn't better than celebrating a collaboration with a Black independent designer. Maybe, it would be great if other schools were featured other than Spelman and Morehouse. Yes, this is a good PR move for the Polo brand and for the young concept designers. No, that does not absolve Ralph Lauren for its decades of contributing to the lack of diversity in the fashion world. No, the scholarships aren't that big. Yes, I plan to mention #HBCUJustGive, again.

I have a lot to say.

No, I do not plan to buy a Polo-inspired Spelman letter sweater or another over-priced canvas bag or a plaid wrap skirt to wear around town with knee high socks and penny loafers at my age. However, I am always on the hunt for a nice white dress. And after two years on lock-down, I will definitely need a new one. Because of this collaboration, I might buy one from the Ralph Lauren section. 

If I see a great white dress from an independent Black designer that I can afford, I will probably buy that one too. The good thing about being a Busy Black Woman is that I have sorority functions that also require white attire. Of course, I am conscious of labels and want to look good when I step out into the world. However, with a soon-to-be 7 year-old whose legs are almost as long as mine, I do not have the luxury of spending her future Spelman tuition on clothes that aren't ready to wear. And that Georgia sun is HOT in May, so I don't want to ruin a one-of-a-kind designer dress with sweat stains.

I have a few indie label frocks from Black designers that I scored thanks to a few good sales at Lord & Taylor and their mass market collaborations with Target. I got particularly excited over those Target collabs, even when I was less than enthusiastic about the actual dresses once I received them. As I write this, I am staring at a very loud and colorful dress I bought last summer that I did not get to wear because we were still on lockdown. I'm guessing I can wear it to brunch at Twelve Oaks and flirt with the Tarleton Twins...

My point is that there are many of us who buy Black whenever we can. Upon learning that the concept designer of this collection is a young Black man means that I will be adding his name to my list of designers to watch in the next installment of #BlackinFashion. It reminds me that many of these indie designers cut their first patterns for the big-name fashion houses, so we may have already been supporting other up-and-coming Black designers without knowing it. For example, the late designer Virgil Abloh, artistic director of Louis Vuitton menswear and founder of his own label Off-White, began his meteoric rise as an intern at Fendi just over ten years ago.

It is true that this is not an entirely original concept. I have now been introduced to a few other brands thanks to the reactions to the Ralph Lauren line such as Chicer Collegiate. Alumni with that coin can support everyone. Folks like me will do what I can, when I can. I still want a Sergio Hudson belt to wear with my jeans and tee shirts. I would settle for a buckle, since a floor-length duster to go over all of these custom tees I buy to support your side hustles is out of the question until somebody pays me for my eloquent musings. But for those of you that vacation on the Vineyard annually, I look forward to seeing your pictorials.

James Jeter is a Morehouse alumnus. The story that has been shared is that he worked his way up from the retail floor at the Georgetown store to a corner office at Ralph Lauren HQ in New York City. During the first year of the pandemic and the summer when folks were marching for Black Lives in response to George Floyd's death, Mr. Polo was addressing his staff before heading off to a weekend in the Hamptons and offered the corporate version of Black Lives Matter--let's revive an old campaign with Tyson Beckford, but find a picture where he looks angry, yet sexy. Then Mr. Jeter stood up and gave the kind of speech that would make Dr. Anne W. Watts (retired Professor of Public Speaking) proud. He was passionate, persuasive, and persistent that more was called for in this moment than a billboard. Mr. Polo told Jeter to write up the specifics by Monday morning, and the rest is history.

Here is where I break character and speak directly to the SpelHouse HATERS. Because y'all are the reason why I am so tired of repeating myself when it comes to acknowledging these kinds of accolades. STOP the hate and shut the FUCK up!

I am serious about this point, because some of y'all have been complaining NON-STOP these last couple of years on social media. I have come to this blog on several occasions to make the case that ALL of our institutions need support from alumni and that call has not changed. As some of you gleefully pointed out, there are moldy dorms, old buildings, and disgruntled faculty at every HBCU. And in case you hadn't noticed, some very rich people have heard your pleas and have been blessing our schools with multi-million dollar guilt love offerings. These blessings have been constant from Mackenzie Scott, who has made philanthropic revenge spending a thing, so we are here for it. Not to be outdone several other corporate philanthropists have also been very generous, as have rich HBCU alumni who have quietly amassed FORTUNES without anyone noticing. Hell, even the Department of Education found some money to offer HBCUs more protection in the wake of these fake bomb threats that have disrupted classes throughout this school year.

But some of y'all are on Blue Ivy's internet sulking that whenever Kamala Harris, Phylicia Rashad, and Ta-Nahesi Coates, all Howard University alumni, get mentioned in the press (good and bad), that allegedly sucks up all of the oxygen from: Meharry Medical School receiving $20 million dollars; North Carolina A&T University cutting the ribbon on a $90 million engineering complex; or Shaw University being featured in one of the best Coca-Cola commercials since Mean Joe Green?!?!

Pinky Cole, a Clark Atlanta University alum is out here expanding her empire of plant-based burgers that folks stand on long lines to try because the buzz is just that hype. Coach Neon Deion is out here pissing off the NCAA and the ESPN analysts off with every recruit he snatches away from the Big Name Universities and signs at Jackson State. I'm betting on Norfolk State University to upset Baylor just because that's what we do every year during March Madness whenever an HBCU makes the tourney. We root for everybody Black! 

Nobody and I mean N-O-B-O-D-Y from the HowardSpelHouse community (I saw that on Twitter) ever talks shit when these kinds of announcements and accolades come to other institutions and their alumni. In fact, we applaud and circulate the news. I have never seen a tweet from one of us go out that whines about how we could have used the money that Mackenzie Scott bestowed on some other HBCU. We don't catch feelings that our athletics never become the stuff of national debates over social equity. We know that there are wonderful things happening at every school and that makes us all proud.

It didn't used to feel this personal, but then I see posts on social media that tear us down whenever something positive happens on our campuses. It hurts to know that whenever someone says something disparaging about one of your schools, the HowardSpelHouse community gets ready to rise up and fight, but that energy isn't always reciprocated. I don't like to generalize and say that it is Everybody vs. Us, because many HBCU alumni aren't that petty. But some of y'all...

Therefore, I will repress the urge to clapback because in the grand scheme of things, it accomplishes nothing but to sour feelings in unproductive ways that don't benefit any of us. At the end of the day, and I say this constantly, none of us are as well off as these PWIs that can give each student a laptop, their own bedroom with a private bathroom, and other amenities that would have been off-campus grad school luxuries for most of us. As a recruiter, I have had to tell parents the honest to God truth that most students who need financial aid to matriculate at Spelman will get a loan package because only a few students receive scholarships. And trust, it is painful to watch the gleam go out when a parent counters by telling me how other schools put more on the table than just a prominent brand name.

I never bash when one or more of those other schools are HBCUs. I would never suggest that someone was making a mistake by not choosing to attend Spelman.

Shall we talk about this $2 million that we're getting from Ralph Lauren? Or should I remind you that we did this a few years ago when Beyonce wrote a check for that same amount and after all was said and done, it only paid a year's worth of tuition for one student...

Instead, let's talk about how the real winner here is Ralph Lauren. He'll still be the default designer for First Ladies and the American Olympic team. He will still promote his aesthetic of yacht club leisure and country club brunch as quintessentially Americana. In a few years when this collaboration has been forgotten, his people will quietly call the booking agent at Wilhelmina and tell them to send over their most American looking models for his latest campaign. And no one will call him out because all of the other fashion houses and magazines will claim that diversity on the runway is out and homogeneity is in.

That is my cynical take, but my eternal optimism is that it won't matter what Mr. Polo will be doing in a few years. When I get that coveted invitation to attend the Harlem Fashion Row NYFW show, I will be more concerned about clinking glasses of CAU alum Donae Burston's La Fête du Rosé with Ruth Carter (Hampton), Oscar winner Aunjanue Ellis (I'm claiming it Tougaloo), and Will Packer (FAMU). And when Beyonce leans over to inquire where I got my badass ensemble, I will say Target darling, but my hair was styled by a sister from Hampton and my shoes were designed by my Spelman Sister Tori Soudan, with ALL of the confidence and swagger that one expects from a proud HBCU alum.

What Is Your Fourth of July?

My Kid declared the night of July 4th to be the best day ever, and this was after a week spent at her happy place (the beach and the house we have rented for eight years). She said this after she experienced the fireworks and hoodworks in our neighborhood, because they are inescapable. We ventured into an alley not too far from the house where we met the young nephew of a neighbor and they became fast friends, as little kids are adept at doing. They ran relays, tossed two packs of snap pops, and marveled at the flying sparks and colors from competing fireworks on the ground and in the air. A little later, we walked down the street to where some guys were shooting off rockets, which excited her even more. Right before we put her to bed she made her declaration, because six year olds are easy to impress...

Of course, now that we are a few days past Independence Day, I am hopeful that the nightly bombardment of firecrackers and cherry bombs will end soon. They've been at this since Juneteenth, but it also seems that each summer, the fireworks start popping off earlier and earlier. Black people love fireworks. I don't know where they are sold in other places, but here in DC, little makeshift plywood storefronts suddenly appear mid-June at various locations throughout the city. For years, the structure that was erected on the northwest side of the Sousa Bridge (near one of the entrances to Anacostia Park) is where my Dad bought our fireworks. Yes, my been-woke Dad, who reminded me on Sunday of his sentiments about Independence Day, including his annual re-reading of Frederick Douglass' famous speech. Even he likes the fireworks.

Therefore, I am here to tell you that it really didn't matter that President Biden made Juneteenth a federal holiday two weeks ago. It was nice, but Independence Day is the crowd favorite with the clear advantage of 245 years of tradition. More than likely, Juneteenth will become the weekend when folks will shop for their American flag apparel and decor on sale in preparation for July 4th. The fireworks will probably become available right after Memorial Day, so all of you gentrifiers better invest in a thunder vest for your dog and learn to wobble. To all of the Incredulous Red Kool-Aid drinkers with no Black friends, Hobby Lobby will have plenty of white sheets and tiki torches...

All of the unnecessary lament that Independence Day would somehow be overshadowed or eclipsed by adding another federal holiday to the mix has proven to be unfounded. After all of these months of lockdown, folks have been eagerly awaiting and preparing for this holiday. Lots of Aunties making potato salad and cousins making playlists. Folks were READY. The day before when we were spending our last few hours in Ocean City at a water park, all of the lifeguards wore their loudest Uncle Sam jester hats, knee-high flag socks, and other ridiculous American flag apparel. The patrons wore flag trunks, bathing suits, tees, and one woman had a sequined flag cowboy hat. Back in DC with the COVID gathering restrictions lifted, all of the parking spaces in my neighborhood were taken by holiday revelers similarly decked out in American flag apparel (some of it clearly purchased for this first social cookout in 16 months). At some point, I wondered if I still had any of those Old Navy $5 tees.

Earlier in the day, I saw that Vanessa Williams had been trending for her forthcoming performance at the pre-recorded Capitol Fourth celebration. The complaints from right-wingnut Twitter were about her singing both America The Beautiful and Lift Ev'ry Voice, also known as the Black National Anthem (soprano Rene Fleming sang The Star Spangled Banner). And predictably, I had something to say in response to their nonsense...

By the end of the evening when I was scrolling through social media again, the complaints from get-off-my-lawn/Gen X Twitter focused on the nonstop fireworks. Between upset pets, fears of not being able to discern the difference between gunshots and firecrackers, and just general frustration about the nonstop noise, I was reminded of an observation I have made countless times in the past.

Black people are thee most patriotic Americans you will encounter. Speaking for the Latinx branch of my family, they get all red, white, and blue for the 4th too, and I imagine that is the same for most people of color. For all of his talk, my Dad enjoys the Capitol Fourth festivities every year (and I know for a fact that he TiVo'd it this year).

So for anybody who wants to get froggy and tell me to go to another country if I have complaints about America, lemme tell you like successive generations of my ancestors have defiantly said: I AIN'T GOING NOWHERE!

First of all, I know that the wolf-cries against Critical Race Theory have many of you thinking that if you keep denouncing it, you don't need to acknowledge the truth, but let's start with some basic facts. My ancestors were brought here to work the land. You can quibble about the dates and terminology, and you can argue that the kidnappings on the Continent were carried out by other Africans, but none of that moral back-tracking is persuasive. You can offer your bullshit justifications cloaked in benevolent Christian Nationalism if you want, but it won't change the fact that many Black people can trace their origins in the New World to when there were Thirteen British colonies, Spanish colonial holdings in Mexico and the Caribbean, the French still owned Louisiana, and Lower Manhattan was still New Amsterdam. 

Furthermore, since I am old enough to recall when there were scarcely any mentions of the contributions made by Black people in America other than as enslaved labor, I know that at the very least, you were taught certain basics about the American Revolutionary War. You may claim to have never heard the name Crispus Attucks, but you do know that prior to the official declaration of war in 1776, the Boston Massacre (1770) was one of many skirmishes between colonists and the occupying British soldiers. The specifics of Virginia's colonial proclamation issued by Lord Dunmore to the enslaved in 1775 may not be common knowledge, but you do know that there were Loyalists to the Crown and most of them migrated to Canada after the War. Look closely at this iconic painting and you will see that there is a Black man seated in front of General Washington as he crossed the Delaware.

I won't waste your time with "woke" history lessons because I know facts don't always sway opinions, but some of you need to get clear that this is our country too. We fought for it, built the wealth that your forefathers passed down to you, and we've saved it from the brink of disaster many times. You don't have to like that, but there ain't nothing you can do about it. You've tried and FAILED to deport, resettle, segregate, lynch, redline, starve, mis-educate, and disenfranchise us out of the narrative, but we are still here. And we will continue to fight for the equality that you claim we have, but have yet to fully experience. 

So yes, our first Black Miss America sang the Black National Anthem in primetime and if you decided to change the channel, that's fine. We love Lift Ev'ry Voice and stand to sing all three stanzas because it is a patriotic song written by two Black men in honor of Abraham Lincoln. The fact that you take issue with it being designated as a Black anthem speaks to your issues, not ours and certainly is telling since the song was written by an accomplished Black composer and his equally accomplished brother. But do go on about the divisiveness of a song that encourages everyone to lift their voices to sing...

Yes, we're going to shoot off fireworks in the hood. We bought them legally. If you moved to this neighborhood and think it is your right to police the behavior of the folks who have been here for decades then do what you have to do, Permit Patty. Call the cops and stand outside in your front yard instead of hiding in your kitchen with your wine spritzer, carrot-raisin salad, and bag of pita chips. Come outside with your bad self and face the neighbors to whom you barely speak as you jog by every day. Because then they'll know whose house not to look out for...

Yes, we are still going to celebrate Juneteenth, the Lord willing and the creek don't rise come next year. And while we debate the politics of the easy layup versus the hard work of restoring the Voting Rights Act, we're going to talk shit and organize for Senator Rev. Raphael Warnock while Unc burns the hotdogs on the grill. We're going to buy Black and shop local and wear our BLM tees with African wax print skirts that have pockets. We won't go all out for PRIDE, but we will welcome those cousins without judgment or too many intrusive questions. We will politely sample all of the potato salad, keep the kids from going in and out of the house, and will introduce the old heads to Uncle Nearest. You will probably hear both versions of Before I Let Go and there will be a loud argument about which version slaps harder (Maze, of course). And we'll right back at it in two weeks for the 4th of July.

Because we too, are America. That's why we march against police misconduct AND stand with the Capitol Police officers like my cousin who were there on January 6. We can mourn the deaths of Officer Brian Sicknick and George Floyd because we know that grief and loss are not political positions. We understand the rights and privileges of citizenship, which is why there are long lines to vote in our communities. Just watch next month, our tears will flow when the American women win that hardware in Tokyo whilst we debate whether Sha'Carri should be watching from home. 

We love this country, even when that love is un-reciprocated.

If that sounds too dysfunctional, too one-sided, the truth is, you do love us. You just don't want to admit it, but you love our food, our music, our art, our strength, our courage, our tenacity, and our fortitude. That we survived the Middle Passage, enslavement, Jim Crow, the crack epidemic, and trumpism, you are impressed and a little envious. Those aren't easy hurdles to overcome, but that's what Americans do. We fight to win.

So before you get too keyboard bold, let me tell you that if you don't like it, then you leave. 

You go back to wherever your family originated so you don't have to listen to my unruly, arrogant, brash, and entitled rants about how this country can and must do better. You find someplace else on the globe where there is no religious freedom. You go where it is typical for mercenaries and mobs to assassinate duly elected officials. You shut up and pledge allegiance to some dictator if you want a conman grifter in power. You migrate to another country where it is acceptable to jail and torture political opponents for their beliefs. You leave, because you're the one who hates America.