When the Words Don't Come

This is one of the pieces I started but never got even halfway through because life kept on lifing (and yes, I have adopted that as my default reason for everything). The main reason why I am returning to publish now is because it captures a unique turning point in my grief journey from this summer--right before the world turned inside out. After the page break, I am writing in real time again, so hopefully that will make this come together. --ADH

It has been a LONG time since I posted anything to this blog. I am still here, trying to sort everything out, but it is taking me longer than expected. I have so many unfinished drafts, so many stray thoughts, so much chaos and crazy going on inside my head. I don't know where to begin.

This is not an excuse. I am just not sure if I can focus long enough to complete anything right now. I am distracted, I am grieving, I am overwhelmed...I am lost. And I don't know how else to express any of what I am feeling, so I will just freestyle and hit publish even if this is the worst, most vulnerable piece of crap I've ever written. Here goes...

I am not as okay as I think I am on most days. I don't know if that makes much sense, but in essence, I put on my big girl panties every day to face the world, and then night comes, and I can't tell you if I seized it or if I squandered it. I haven't begun to deal with all of the final stuff I am supposed to handle with respect to my Mom. I haven't sent off half the Thank You notes. I didn't send half of the Father's Day cards with Thank You Notes because I got caught up in trying to make it to the end of the school year. I still have unsold Girl Scout cookies. I haven't gone back to my house for more than a few hours because I don't have the mental energy to combat unnecessary chaos. 

I cannot believe this is the first day of summer. 

I did do laundry. I did label most of the Kid's stuff for her first sleepaway camp starting in ten days. I did order the Hub a nice Father's Day gift that he seemed to appreciate. I do manage to take a shower every day.

On Sunday, I was in the kitchen chopping veggies and prepping for an impromptu family gathering, and it dawned on me that I am now the de facto matriarch of this band of feral cats. And in this most thankless role, it means that I need to think about everyone in this family, while they get to decide whether to completely ignore me. I mean that in the most complimentary way because the one person who does notice is my Dad. And he is part of the reason why I haven't completely given up.

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.

 

Dreaming in Full Circles

This Busy Black Woman is feeling old y'all. I recently participated in a few local MLK Day activities, culminating in the parade here in DC for the first time in 40 years! Imma need to rest up for February because I am not as young as I was in this picture (somebody is going to catch that :) 

We've been doing MLK Day here in DC since I was a child, which was a long time ago. A lot has changed, but a lot hasn't. It is still cold AF in January, but thankfully the sun was out and it wasn't below 40 degrees. The parade route wasn't that long even though it still travels through the 'hood along MLK Avenue (down the SE side instead of the SW side). The hood itself has changed--we passed by a Starbucks, and that wasn't anywhere near here 40 years ago, let alone 5. Maybe I wasn't all that observant as a kid, but there were as many white people on the sidelines as spectators as there were cops, so that was also quite the change.

I have a dream that one day...little Black boys and Black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers. (1963)

Of course, the biggest change from 40 years ago is that with MLK Day celebrated as a local event well before it became a national holiday, it was held on January 15, his actual birthday, as opposed to the third Monday in January. So I am old enough to remember a time when there were no Black federal holidays; furthermore, because I grew up in a Chocolate City, I had no clue that there were Confederate holidays. Who knew that just over the bridge in the Commonwealth of Old Virginny they were celebrating Robert E. Lee as some kind of American hero (until just a few years ago)?

Put a pin in that for now. When I sat down to write initially, I was motivated by adrenaline, nostalgia, and pride. Adrenaline from the two miles of walking; nostalgia from reflecting on my past MLK parade participation; and pride that I am now passing on that legacy to the Kid. My initial thought was to post a few pictures and offer some commentary, but then I realized how this felt like a larger full circle moment, connecting my childhood memories to something that might serve as a guide for my daughter in the future. Ironically, we were supposed to be marching in a different capacity and role, but that fell through. Instead, we ended up falling in with her Girl Scout troop, which was an even better way to mark the occasion, so that definitely got me all in my feelings. 

Everybody can be great...because anybody can serve. (1968)

Our local MLK parade began in 1979 and it was considered a high honor for your school to be chosen to participate. From my recollection, most of the local high schools got to march, and a lucky few of the junior high and elementary schools were also invited. I do not recall the exact year that my elementary school was chosen, but it was a big deal. Our delegation consisted of the cheerleaders, pom-pom girls, drill team, and safety patrol. Now I have to be honest that technically, I was not actually in the parade that year because I wasn't old enough; however, I swear (and it is the honest to God truth) that I was at the parade! Not only was I there, but so was the King family, various local and national civil rights dignitaries, and a lot of celebrity activists, including the phenomenal Stevie Wonder*!

The official designation of the holiday was signed in 1983, and full observance began in 1986 when I was in middle school. It was only then that I began to understand that we had been marching and advocating for a lot more than just a day off from work and/or school. I had not realized that our annual MLK Day parade was actually a major lobbying event for several civil rights issues, such as calling for an end to apartheid in South Africa and for DC Statehood. When I started high school in the fall of 1986, it was an eye-opener to learn that implementing MLK Day into our school calendar had been a challenge, whereas tacking on snow days after a blizzard...

Change does not roll in on the wheels of inevitability but comes through continuous struggle. And so we must straighten our backs and work for our freedom. (1956)

Fast forward to the actual MLK Day Parade where I have vivid memories of participating, when I was in college. In the early days of this blog, I wrote about that experience here, and a few years later, someone posted this picture to Facebook that proves I was there. Pull out your readers and take a look at the caption:

If you're squinting to see me, I am wearing the third set of white go-go boots on the left. Somehow, I had forgotten that this had only been the 6th Annual MLK Day Parade in King's hometown of Atlanta although I'm pretty sure that I must have told everybody in the band how DC had its own parade for years. In addition to the other reasons already shared here, this parade was memorable because my older cousin BCW also marched with his college band, and I was so excited to call our Grandmother afterwards to tell her that I saw him. (However, his excitement to see me was tempered by the sight of me in that outfit, so we'll just leave it at that.)

All of those warm and fuzzy memories aside, I think it is interesting how some of my articulated concerns from 2011 about MLK Day becoming this Day of Service have been picked up by others. Perhaps it was inevitable that after 40 years, there would be some backlash over what the holiday should be and what it has become. For my part, I have evolved to see the service aspect as a good thing, especially if we make it a point to teach young people why the work itself is about more than the photos posted to social media. Yes, we should collect toiletries, socks, gloves, and snacks for the unhoused. But then we should also advocate for policies and programs to aid people in that kind of dire need. A warm pair of socks is no substitute for a warm place to sleep every night. Sure, get people to clean up the public parks and the sides of the highways, but then make sure everyone understands how that relates to Dr. King's work. Make sure that they see the connection to community beautification and MLK's famous quote about street sweepers, or more significantly how his last public protest involved elevating the dignity of all work, especially work deemed hard and undesirable.

Life's most persistent and urgent question is, 'What are you doing for others?' (1957)

Before his stroke in 2016, the Rev. Dr. Jeremiah Wright had a standing engagement to preach at Howard University every MLK Sunday and I would take my Mom as part of our official weekend of activities. I recall one of his most poignant sermons centered on the annual ritual where certain folks would intentionally misquote Dr. King, and in that masterful way that Black preachers often frame prophetic truths, this theme has stayed with me: Do not allow yourselves to be seduced by the convenience of the soundbite, lest we allow MLKs legacy be reduced to just a soundbite. You can probably guess what soundbite he was referring to...

Therefore, while it was great to leave the house for that prayer breakfast; to engage in civic-minded activities such as laying a wreath at the Memorial; to collect and donate stuff for charity; and then to participate in the parade, the work of honoring Dr. King must evolve. It needs to become more than linking arms to sing We Shall Overcome, calling out hypocrisy on social media, or writing think pieces about why all of these gestures are superficial. Forty years ago, when we were lobbying hostile political forces to designate this holiday, it was not so that y'all could spend every year congratulating yourselves on that accomplishment. Yes, please dedicate your day off to doing something meaningful other than shopping and TV binge watching, but also ask yourself what would MLK be doing?

This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. (1963)

Let's make a deal that if we keep the parades, peace walks, and the service component, we also must insist on more education and activism. There was a labor union marching behind the Girl Scouts and it was quite the moment when we were stopped in front of that Starbucks. Because we know the hood needs business investment, but must that also mean gentrification and displacement? In 40 years will my daughter be reminiscing about the neighborhood where the MLK Parade used to be held? And now that we've got elected officials throughout the country who are pushing back against inclusive curricula, will MLK Day become another culture war skirmish? Virginia may have abandoned its official celebration of Gen. Robert E. Lee and taken his statues down, but for how long? Because I predict the day will come when someone misuses a couple of King quotes to justify recoupling Lee and King for the sake of forgiveness and brotherhood:

Forgiveness is not an occasional act. It is a permanent attitude. (1962)
Hate is too great a burden to bear. I have decided to love. (1967)

Isn't that essentially the stance of some conservative commentators who argue that we have strayed far from their interpretation of MLK's dream? That they were only willing to go along with celebrating a gentle Black Messiah-like figure who forgave their parents and grandparents for their racism. Once we insisted on quoting the King who overturned tables in the temple by making demands for more than integrated coffee, we were asking for too much.

There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges. (1963)

Mind you, that quote was taken from the same speech where MLK shared his prophetic dream of building the beloved community. That community isn't the one where we build walls to keep America exclusive to only the few. It isn't where we criminalize parents for allowing their children to explore their own truths. And it certainly isn't some colorblind utopia where people justify their racism by defining merit to maintain their advantage in society. 

The fight for equality must be fought on many fronts--in the urban slums, in the sweat shops of the factories and fields. Our separate struggles are really one--a struggle for freedom, for dignity, and for humanity. MLK to Caesar Chavez in 1966

When we say that things have come full circle, it is with the belief that we have come back to a starting point. It is not to suggest that there has been no progress, but to signify how lessons or experiences from the past often have parallels to what we are currently facing. I began this with the idea that I had come full circle with my participation in local MLK Day Parades by now seeing my daughter participate. It appears so has our country--back to where we were 40 years ago with many of the same arguments and debates over the meaning of racial justice and progress. Most of the people who claim that we've made enough progress or that we've achieved the 'dream' were and still are on the wrong side of history. That will never change, so we who believe in freedom cannot rest (not even on MLK Day) until:

...[J]ustice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream. (1963)

* This is not footage from the MLK Parade, but from the 20th Anniversary of the 1963 March on Washington later that same year.

Jangled Bells

It's the most annoying time of the year...

Yep, my inner Grinch is back because y'all insist on pushing Christmas on me earlier each year. This year, I swear some Southern radio station was playing Christmas music before Election Day and that isn't even the worst of it. I've been seeing Black Friday deals since September, so yes, it is already way too much too soon. 

Give folks time to eat the rest of the Halloween candy, damn!

Regular readers of this blog already know to expect a lot of bah humbugging from me right around this time of year, so no new ground to cover by writing yet another piece about how much I hate Christmas. So let's go in a different direction by addressing one of the many reasons why I find all of this so ridiculous: Christmas movies.

Specifically, the Hallmark kind that always end with a happy couple kissing in a faux snow-covered gazebo. Or the kind that features a magical appearance by Santa or his wife or an elf or an angel or an abandoned baby or a ghost. I think that covers the gamut of plot possibilities because no one has come up with a new Christmas story so y'all just do a remix of the various themes already out in the universe. And while there are a few Christmas movies that I do enjoy and could watch over and over, those tend to break the formulaic mode because they are comedies or about family dysfunction. If there is an all-day marathon of A Christmas Story (1983), Elf (2003), or The Family Stone (2005) playing somewhere, I am there--just not until after my birthday.

Every year, Hallmark, Lifetime, and now TVOne roll out a new batch of Christmas movies which makes avoiding that aspect of the holiday just as challenging as escaping Mariah Carey's All I Want for Christmas. I'm pretty sure that other TV networks have taken note and have been working on their own holiday programming, so now might be a good time for me to finally pay for a streaming service. What are the kids binge-watching on Hulu these days?

Having said all of that, the real reason I've brought you here today is to take note of a little article I recently read that explains why one of Hallmark's biggest movie stars, Candace Cameron Bure, suddenly defected to Great American Family network. Now, when this was initially announced back in April, I took a moment and thought, hmm, I guess that means more work for Holly Robinson Peete. And then I realized, yeah it must be nice that Candace can take her toys to her own room so that she won't have to share.

If you can read between the lines, it seems rather convenient that Bure would claim to want to promote more family-friendly holiday fare now that Hallmark has opted to expand the definition of its family offerings to be more inclusive. Not just in terms of racial diversity, but in presenting representations of family that depart from the "traditional" nuclear model. And while that is certainly her right, nothing screams I'M A SANCTIMONIOUS KAREN louder (except maybe writing it in all caps like I just did).

Color me not at all surprised because this script is just as predictable as one of those holiday movies. The former child star had built quite the brand for herself as the face of Hallmark made-for-TV movies. She got to work for about three to four intense months, and then spent the rest of the year teaching Sunday School and baking bread. It was the perfect gig, but then we had to ruin it for her by asking why come she and her other sitcom sorority sisters were the only ones getting cast in those kinds of movies. And then suddenly it was inconsistent with her brand to be seen in the company of the very people she moved to the exurbs to avoid in the grocery store.

I had taken note some time ago that the offerings on Hallmark were very pumpkin spice latte, so I rarely watched anything on that channel other than The Golden Girls or Fraiser reruns. Since I always fall asleep with the TV on, I often woke up to I Love Lucy, which as many of you know is definitely an all-time Busy Black Woman favorite. Like many niche channels, Hallmark fills the spaces between shows with a lot of promos for its own programming. And I began to detect a theme...

I wanted to keep an open mind about what or who I rarely saw. But it was kind of obvious, and despite the appearance of an occasional Black or Asian best friend, some things are exactly what we see as clear as day. Perhaps it could be written off as unintentional that Hallmark had become a refuge for former sitcom actresses, all of whom happened to be white...or maybe it was a choice. Because I could think of several nonwhite sitcom actresses who certainly could use some work but don't ever seem to get any.

The lack of diversity became undeniable to me the Christmas the Hub and I stayed with his sister. I remember that holiday in vivid detail because she LOVES those movies, they were airing 24/7, and I was pregnant. For three days (talk about biblical allusions), I don't know how many of those movies I sat through and actually watched, but if you can believe it, one stood out from the milquetoast fare. It starred Lacey Chabert, whom I knew as the kiss-ass friend from Mean Girls (2004), as a woman who gets wooed by a Prince in A Royal Christmas (2014). I don't remember anything distinct about the love interest, such as how they met or fell in love, but I do remember that his mother was Doctor Quinn Jane Seymour herself. And I thought out loud, well is there a white actress who hasn't been cast in one of these movies yet? When will there be movie starring the daughter from Mr. Belvedere?

No response to my pregnant rantings, so I just sat quietly in my corner. I could either brave the Staten Island Mall two days before Christmas, read one of my SIL's cookbooks, or give in to see if there was anything compelling or redeeming about any of these movies. I choose option C, and while not entirely terrible, it was a lot like spending a sick day at home with my grandmother. In other words, I knew to expect a bowl of canned chicken noodle soup, some saltine crackers, and an intense stare-down with Victor Newman...

The fact that my Nuyorican SIL was unfazed by the predictability of the plots or the homogeneity of the casts, in addition to knowing many sistahs who enjoyed those same movies, it made me wonder why none of the upstart Black cable networks hadn't produced any of their own holiday fare. It wouldn't have meant sacrificing much time on their already packed programming schedule to preempt a few hours of Martin reruns or not to air The Color Purple (1986) one weekend. Who would notice if instead of Danica McKellar, we got Tempest Bledsoe some work for a change? 

Like every other good idea that I was too busy to put into action, someone at TVOne realized that this ain't rocket science. Since practically every Black sitcom had a very special Christmas episode in the vaults that had been inspired by It's a Wonderful Life (1946) or Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol, how hard could it be to come up with something, anything other than the sugar cookie cut-outs on the Hallmark channel? I don't know if Merry Wishmas (2018) was the first of their original movie offerings, but they've been pumping out new holiday movies every year which must have caught the attention of the Hallmark suits. Because now they've responded with their own Mahogany line of Christmas movies, along with a VIDA lineup, and methinks that it was only a matter of time before someone pitched the idea of two elderly lesbians kissing under a gazebo covered in faux-snow. And that was just too much for the most wholesome and ever self-righteous Candace Cameron Bure.

That, and having to cede some of her realm to Holly Robinson Peete.

I'm not calling Bure any names, just pointing out that it is really convenient to allude to "traditional family values" as a euphemism for realizing that she was no longer the Queen of the Hallmark Movie Empire. I wouldn't go so far as to call her a bigot; instead, I would argue that this was a rather shrewd move to make in the midst of a white-hot culture war raging in the real world. In a year when there has been legislation introduced in several states that target trans-youth and claims that children are being indoctrinated into the "gay lifestyle" by a storybook about two penguins, yeah Candy Girl you definitely chose a side. And again, that is your right, because there is an audience that prefers to only see stories that reflect what makes them comfortable in their own biases, so go forth and be mediocre!

But please do me a favor and stop using your narrow definition of Christianity as justification for your intolerance. I'm a Christian too Boo, and my Jesus, the one whose birth your crap ass movies are supposed to celebrate, doesn't seem like the kind of person who would have been concerned about tarnishing your brand. He wasn't all that worried about being seen with the wrong kind of people because there was no such thing in His eyes. You don't have to take my word for it because He said so, and I urge you to look it up in one of those $65 bibles you are hawking.

I will come right out and say it: the Hallmark channel got too ghetto for Bure, so she clutched her purse and hurried across the street. By switching to the Great American Family channel, she can lure her fans to the new mall where there is a traditional Santa and no David Sedaris-ian elves. At her new mall, Bure can get her overpriced coffee served in a disposable cup that has CHRISTMAS emblazoned all over it, brewed by an un-unionized underpaid barista working overtime. Her brother's crappy Christmas movie can play in the multiplex and her tee shirts can be purchased in stores where the retail workers are required to wish you a "Merry Christmas" instead of Happy Holidays (because Hanukkah and Diwali aren't for real Americans). The new mall is everything the old mall used to be before everyone got woke...

Because isn't that the reason for the season--for folks to keep buying the illusion that the Cameron siblings have been selling all these years? They want top shelf placement for their stuff, not to be comingled in what they perceive to be the bargain bin with ours. God forbid that someone just might prefer The Drifter's 1954 version of White Christmas to the movie version from White Christmas the film, also released in 1954. And why not add a little José Feliciano in the mix because Feliz Navidad is a jam! The notion that there is only one right way to celebrate Christmas, or that this is about constraining Christianity when it is all about Capitalism is absolutely on-brand for both Candace and Kirk and their ilk--former child stars whose careers were built on nostalgia for realities that only ever applied to them.

I want to end this on a more festive note because Bure did a lot of people a big favor by making such a dramatic exit. As she stated, this gives her an opportunity to help launch a new venture from the ground floor, so that is both admirable and risky. And by leaving an already established network franchise, she has cleared the stage for other actresses to get some of that Hallmark holiday shimmer and shine. Let the Mowry sisters build themselves an empire! My issue was never about the fact that she left (because even though I did write an entire piece on the matter as if I care, I don't); it is with the manner in which her departure was framed, as if she had to run for her life in order to save her virtue.

Although I'm sure her movies won't get any better on a different network, at least she is safe from secularism and the gay agenda. Her values and her fortune secured, Candace Cameron Bure will be just fine. All of you avid Christmas rom-com movie fans now have an additional channel with a new slate of movies, so now I know what to avoid while channel surfing. 

Another COVID Christmas

Happy New Year! Pretend that you are reading this right after Christmas, which technically you are, but you know, as if the calendar still read 2021...

December is always a crazy month for me. I tend to experience it in three distinct phases: (1) my birthday; (2) that weird space between the 10th when everything is still moving in slow motion until things suddenly accelerate to the 24th; and (3) then the countdown to January and the annual question of how long to leave up the decorations. (For the record, mine are still up.)

This year, as in the past three years, it has been one crazy ass month.

It began with so much hope and promise. I actually got to celebrate my birthday with brunch, a play, and dinner. I ordered our Christmas cards on time and got my Holiday Gift Guide up on IG and FB. I got most of our shopping done, including some gifts for my Dad, and all was proceeding steadily...then shit hit the fan on the 16th.

I got a phone call, and I almost didn't answer it because I didn't recognize the number. But there was a little green check mark beside it, kind of like those blue check marks on Twitter, so it registered as a verified number and not a spam call to get solar panels on my roof. It was the assistant vice principal at my daughter's school. The Kid had been identified as a close contact of someone who tested positive for COVID.

As you might imagine that notification threw me into a panic spiral which was exacerbated by the fact that I was sitting in the car in front of the Target. The plan had been to go inside to pick up an order, then to head over to the mall for a little more shopping for all of the events that had been planned for the coming weekend. I called the Hub to inform him, and then after wandering in a circle around the Target for at least five rotations, I tried to contain the urge to scream.

We got ourselves tested the next day. We notified the appropriate persons with whom we had been in contact. Our results came back negative on Saturday, as did the two subsequent tests we took over the next few days. All of our extra-curricular activities were cancelled and where appropriate, everything went virtual and we stayed quarantined in the house (except to get tested). We got cleared the day before Christmas Eve and we were able to resume the rest of our holiday preparations. In a word, we were spared.

However, other members of our family were not. My brother, who is a teacher, tested positive for COVID the same day we got the call about my daughter's status. His wife and youngest daughter tested positive that weekend. Two of my nephews in New Jersey also tested positive, so we decided to cancel our travel plans to New York. I have heard from several other people that this Omarion variant of COVID got to them before they could get boosted. Just this past week, I have read emails from several parents that their children tested positive on or about Christmas Day.

I am still suppressing the urge to scream. It isn't enough to suggest that we got lucky, because I know it was more than a roll of the dice. The Hub got his booster in October. My parents got their in-home boosters in November. The Kid got vaccinated as soon as she was eligible, and I got my booster shot a few days after my birthday. Fortunate doesn't even begin to describe my relief, and exasperated isn't an adequate word to describe how it feels to be heading into season 3 of COVID.

Maybe to the folks who keep suggesting that this isn't that big of a deal, it is just an inconvenience to cancel travel plans at the last minute and have to provide all kinds of documentation so as not to forfeit a $500 deposit. Maybe I shouldn't have been anxious that on the same day I got word that my child was a close contact, she had just been in dance class around other kids and their parents, so out of respect for their health, they all had to be notified. Maybe it isn't all that difficult to keep an energetic six year old occupied when she wants to be in school with her friends and there really isn't a sufficient virtual learning option. Maybe all of the families that just celebrated their first or second holiday season without a cherished loved one should just...

In all of the other parts of the country where folks have been protesting mask mandates, misquoting MLK, and blocking access to mail-in voting, maybe it doesn't matter that we were just starting to get back to some version of normal pre-pandemic living. Now we have to reset. I've had to re-draw imaginary lines around my family again because I can't afford to slip up. Contrary to your jeers that I am living in fear, nah...I am living in the real world where a global pandemic compels me to take precautions the same way you "live in fear" over Critical Race Theory ruining your lives.

And that is the part that has me scanning the thesaurus for better words to describe my feelings. Vexed is a good word, but it is too close to vaxxed (which is now a word that doesn't trigger the Spell checker). I am vexed that people are so infantile and peevish about making minor adjustments to preventing the spread of an airborne virus that has killed more than 800,000 people in this country. Thankfully, I am also vaxxed and boosted. Another word that I like (one that my Mom used a lot when we were younger) is heedless. Because calling folks selfish is so 2020 (and deplorable is so 2016).

After her embarrassing interview with TFG wherein he contradicted her stance against the vaccine, I wanted to find a good word to describe the prattling college drop-out pundit who swears that she is smarter than folks with medical degrees. It was a toss-up between supercilious and delusional, but as I watched her cat fight on Twitter with her sorority girl rival, it seemed more appropriate to move along and just let them have at it. Mudwrestling isn't even a sport. As for the other young clout-chaser I saw attempt to take on the Oprah over her holiday dinner policy, she definitely earned all of the ridicule meted out for taking aim at our Patron Saint and missing. I almost felt a twinge of pity for her, having invited the wrath of a gang of blue checks on Twitter who probably should have left her to being dragged by the unwashed masses. But I won't waste any emotions on another opinionated Canadian (that's an inside joke, btw).

Nor am I going to waste any energy complaining about these new CDC guidelines since I am going to keep wearing my masks, washing my hands, and staying the heck away from people who want to live free and die. I admit to having advantages that allow me to ignore the shortened quarantine recommendations, and I realize that there are economic costs to COVID that someone must bear. Therefore, if that means I have to wait an extra day or so for an Amazon Prime Delivery, so be it. I can wait for that fire pit that I haven't yet ordered because it isn't a necessity. Save your trash talk about my alleged misunderstanding the global economy if that is what makes you feel better, but I have been ridiculed ALL of my Busy Black life for one thing or another, so calling me a sheep isn't the worst insult I've heard. Not even top ten.

And in spite of COVID being that houseguest that has way over-stayed and refuses to get the hint to GTFOH, I declare myself blessed this Christmas. First of all, my family walked away from a hit and run car accident. Second, my brother, his family, and my nephews are on the mend. Third, I already told you that my parents are vaxxed and boosted, and they are living one day at a time. In spite of daily attempts to steal my joy, I didn't even lean into my Grinch routine this year because as I reflected on the story of the birth of Christ, I had a revelation about real inconvenience. Try having to travel when you are nine months pregnant on the back of a donkey, giving birth in a barn without anesthesia, and then putting your newborn baby to sleep in a food trough for livestock. Add in a stream of uninvited visitors, including a child with a drum...

The Christmas story isn't about any of the superficial shit that we have emphasized all of these years. It isn't about disposable coffee cups or what the minimum wage-earning cashier says after bagging your purchases. It isn't that perfect Hallmark movie ending with a kiss in a gazebo. Nor is it about actually being in a church on the day in question (because I've done that, and nobody else comes but the most devout and childless). Christmas is the kindness that doesn't get staged for social media--the generosity, the selflessness, the humanity that transcends hashtags.

Therefore, if you think your holiday was ruined by COVID because Pete Buttigieg took paternity leave and your packages didn't arrive on time; the FOX News tree was intentionally set on fire; or because you didn't read the instructions and burnt your pumpkin pie...I've got a thimble-sized amount of empathy for you. Life happens. You are entitled to your feelings and I won't respond with the same kind of indifference and lack of compassion that has been the norm since the beginning of this pandemic. Better luck next year.

However, if your Christmas was impacted by COVID in a more extreme and tragic manner, you have my sincerest condolences and sympathies. If I could offer words of comfort, they would express my hope that you find some measure of reassurance that you are not alone in your suffering or grief. Others are in your midst ready to surround you with love and to see to your physical needs. In the event that all I can offer are thoughts and prayers, they are sincere in wishing for your ability to endure and power through this moment.

Finally, as it is now several days after both Christmas and the New Year, my personal public service announcement (because it is crazy out here in these COVID streets) is to take precaution and extra care. I have been reading some of the chatter on social media, so let me state at the outset, I am no scientist; I am a lawyer. And that part of me wonders how some of these folks get to go on television every day as if they are reading these recommendations for the first time on the air. As in, nobody considered that y'all were going to eff up sick leave, such as it is, for everybody? Therefore, let's all touch and agree that those CDC guidelines are aspirational in assuming that folks are going to be honest. And since that hasn't exactly been working out as we hoped, you can take care of you by masking up and getting vaxxed and boosted (or not); however, if you won't do either of those things, then stand six feet back! This isn't some gazebo scene out of a Hallmark movie.

Feeling Secure

Twas the day after the Christmas and I spent the afternoon on the sofa with a bottle of sparkling wine, chicken strips, and a few hours of kid-free silence. So naturally, I did what every other Insecure fan should have been doing in preparation for the series finale later that evening--I caught up on the episodes that had I missed or half-watched from this last season.

Now, because I am mindful that there are Busy Black folks out there who aren't fans or maybe haven't had a chance to watch the finale, so I won't spend that much time this Monday quarterbacking the finale. Watch it, come to your own conclusions, and then come back here for my take on what I hope will be the impact of Insecure for the long-term.

1. Conversations with our families about estate planning - This really hit home for me. My parents wrote their wills some twenty years ago, long before there was a notion of the chronic health issues we have faced for the past ten. My Mom, on the sage advice of Suzie Orman, had the foresight to invest in long term care insurance, which has made been a lifesaver in every possible way. While my Dad is still old school with respect to his faith in life insurance and bank savings, it was the financial planning that my Mom initiated that has really made this season of their lives manageable for us as their children.

There's so much more to say on this topic, because Black people can be inconsistent when it comes to death. On the one hand, we deal with it as a part of life, yet it amazes me just how reluctant our families are to plan for anything other than the funeral. I don't want to think about dying either, but if these last two years have taught us anything, it is that we need to have contingencies in place to deal with the unexpected. TALK TO YOUR PARENTS! Get their passwords. Have them walk you through their finances. Ask them how they want things to be settled. And talk to your siblings so that everyone is on the same page. Ain't nothing worse than drama and tension on the front pew that never gets resolved. 

2. Embracing imperfection by dropping the Black superwoman trope - The name of the show was Insecure. A lot of y'all missed that. Some of you were very critical that Issa didn't have her shit together from the beginning. Some of you probably thought highly of Molly until she realized how much of a hot ass mess she had been for four seasons. Some of you were more concerned about Tiffany wearing your sorority colors than you were about the vulnerability she showed as a new mother suffering with post-partum depression. You might have missed the fact that Kelli was sober this entire season, which was a good thing considering that she pissed her pants during Coachella and got into all kinds of nonsense whenever she imbibed. Y'all were siding with Lawrence's irresponsible fuckboi declaration that Condola blew up his life when she got pregnant (which we're going to revisit a little later).

Life is messy and not even fictional people are perfect. Thank goodness!

3. Addressing the stigma of mental health, especially among Black men - We saw Molly with a therapist, and I know that the religulous among you will argue that all she needed was Jesus. But I'm sure He would have sent her to a therapist too. Despite the ultimate outcome of his story arc, Nathan was one of the most valuable characters, working through his issues with others and with himself. Unlike most stereotypical depictions of mental illness (the homeless vagrant or the drug addicted loser), it was refreshing to see a high functioning, yet flawed individual who owned his issues. 

4. Establishing and maintaining mature co-parenting relationships - So we've reached the hill where I plant my flag--Lawrence, the dude who perpetually let life happen to him finally grew a pair! The fact that it took his fast-talking friend Chad to blurt that out at him for it to finally sink in that he needed to make some choices and man the fuck up (and you thought that was only about his on-and-off again situationship with Issa)...

And one of those choices was to be more present in the life of his son with Condola. She didn't get pregnant--they were fucking. Birth control goes both ways, but sometimes it fails and one of those little swimmers is gonna go all the way (we all saw Look Who's Talking). Given that Lawrence was rather promiscuous generous, I'm surprised that he hadn't created more babies...but y'all aren't ready for that conversation.

Instead, let's keep the focus on the fact that if more folks took responsibility for their actions, the world would be so much better for the children that result. I say that as a lawyer who used to represent parents in their custody disputes. I say that as a woman who has read some of the really shitty takes that some weekend Dads have expressed about paying child support. I say that as a mother with equal disdain for the toxic Moms who feel entitled to erect insurmountable barriers to healthy co-parenting because they have irrational trust and control issues. 

Look, parenting is hard within a marriage, let alone between two households. We only got one full episode, a HUGE blow-up, and a few tranquil scenes scattered among subsequent episodes, but I assure you, it took a LOT of work to get him to that happy ending. 

5. Blackness is Beautiful - I mean, we know this but I don't think the rest of the world always gets to see it presented that way. Sure, we've had sitcoms with all-Black casts that have been unapologetically Black in the past, but this time we got an experience that showcased Black Los Angeles as well. We saw Black people at art galleries, at outdoor festivals, planning events, attending Coachella, hiking, hanging out on the beach, owning businesses, and doing all of the bougie stuff that white folks assume we don't do. We drink coffee too, but in every other sitcom, we'd be the sassy barista or the silent busboy. In any other sitcom, we'd see a few Black faces in the crowd and that would be touted as inclusion. For once, it was great to see us as the foreground and the background. It was significant to depict various aspects of Black life that weren't confined to any one space within the community--the Dunes apartment complex in Inglewood was just as integral as Molly's downtown office or Crenshawn's warehouse workspace or Black alumni weekend at Stanford.

It matters that Issa Rae, the actress, writer, and producer was an aspirant just ten years ago when we first encountered Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl back in 2011 on YouTube. Like most people who became fans of that effort, who could have foreseen that it would lead Rae to the point where she is today? Not just in her career, but also the other Black actors, writers, and directors that she took along with her for the ride: Stella Meghie, Melina Matsoukas, Prentice Penny, Natasha Rothwell, Jay Ellis, and Yvonne Orji. I am thinking about Tracy Oliver, the antagonist on the web series, who is now a budding media mogul in her own right. There is also Robin Thede, the writer and producer of the hilariously funny and Emmy-nominated A Black Lady Sketch Show. I am thinking that when Rae stated that she was rooting for everyone Black, that meant EVERYBODY.

Of course, the predictable backlash to this will be to point out that there is no such place as Black LA if we only make up 8% of that city's population. Some snooty TV executive, probably the same guy that canceled Girlfriends without a series finale, will wonder aloud where in Los Angeles they found that many Black people and whether it was truly representative if there were not as many Latinx or Asian Americans depicted (because it is perfectly acceptable to accuse us of excluding others). Surely, token efforts to integrate shows like the original Sex and the City or Girls, which celebrated a very specific demographic of empowered white woman (the Christines and Kristins) would have more impact. Just greenlight a reboot or a pre-boot with a Black girlfriend and set one of the episodes outside of their typical exclusive enclaves of privilege. Send Miranda Hobbs to a Black church in Harlem with her law school professor. Because that isn't racist...

But it ain't progress either.

I would love for the legacy of Insecure to be a more sustained movement towards inclusion in Hollywood--more diversity in directors, writers, production crews, etc. It would be great, but I lived through the 80s and 90s. Ground-breaking popular Black shows still get marginalized while mediocre mainstream shows live on in syndication. I still believe that our stories deserve to be told and that there is plenty of space on the red carpet for more diversity, but I don't want to wait another 30 years just to make incremental advances. Because Issa Rae decided not to rest on her dreams, someone else needs to wake up and follow suit. 

Are you waiting on a chance, or are you taking any?

Read that again, look at the calendar, and get then serious about making that next move. If you saw the finale, that was a personal message in a bottle that even if the ground is shaking beneath your feet, trust yourself...Everything is going to be, Okay?!

Rules of Holiday Engagement

Now that we have entered the last quarter of 2021, some of you are about to assume the role of insufferable self-righteous assholes, so I am going to call you out on it right now. I don't really care to engage in debates over secular coffee cups or Christmas being ruined by someone wishing you a "Happy Holidays". I am not concerned about the images of ghosts and goblins or sugar skulls, nor am I willing to celebrate Holy-ween in your church's parking lot. We are not going to argue about what is traditional or not about Thanksgiving, so if my Kid comes home with a homemade Pilgrim hat, I am just going to deal. We are not doing the Culture War Hunger Games this year.

I've got plenty of battles I am willing to fight, but here are some ground rules. We will not be intentionally mis-gendering any one. We will not discuss tattoos or piercings at the dinner table. It is none of your business when someone is going to settle down or if they ever will. Ditto for having children. We're not going to be passive aggressive and make disparaging comments about discipline until them and their bad ass kids are gone. We will not discuss weight loss or your Peloton workouts. We are not going to entertain your lectures on vegan living and no one is going to eat that tofurkey (so wrap it up and take it with you). Yes, we will be considerate of food allergies and won't force your children into unwanted hugs or kisses by relatives they don't know. We will avoid topics that will likely result in unnecessary drama, so don't start none, won't be none.

We are not watching that Dave Chappelle special. 

I don't care if you bleed burgundy and gold, you will refer to the Washington Football Team (WFT) as the Washington Football Team (WFT) until such time as they settle on a real name. Baseball season will be over soon, so you've had enough time to get used to the fact that the MLB team in Cleveland is called the Guardians now, so stop whining snowflake. If you say anything negative about any female athlete, so help me you are not getting a to-go plate.

And now we get to my most controversial pronouncement: we are not blaming anything on the gays. I've already said what I said about intentional mis-gendering and not watching Dave Chappelle, so this should not be surprising, but it needs to be stated, emphatically and without a stutter. Leave all of that intolerance back in 1989.

Let's stop and linger on that edict in particular because of all the culture war clashes that are raging unresolved for the moment, this is the one topic that is a bona fide dead horse. Stop thrashing that carcass. Cease and desist from blaming all of the world's problems on people who just want the freedom to exist and to love whom they choose. For in spite of the lip service we pay to not caring about what people do in their personal lives, we very much care and that inconsistency has real consequences. 

This isn't about whether you approve of someone's 'alternative' lifestyle or if you truly care about the eternal destination of their souls. There is some child who will hear your disparaging tirades on sissies and dykes, and they will spend considerable time tormented by descriptions of their feelings as unnatural and unholy. That child will look in the mirror and question whether God loves everybody, and that could result in all kinds of self-destructive choices. And no, it isn't persecution or censorship because you are entitled to your opinions, but you are not entitled to express them in such a manner as to intentionally cause harm to others in mixed company. 

It starts at Halloween at costume selection time. Things have changed a lot since I was growing up, but those flammable plastic hazmat suit costumes were probably the origin of a lot of trauma. You want to be a superhero you say? Well, you had five options: Superman, Batman, Spiderman, the Hulk, or Wonder Woman. Dawuzzit. I don't recall if Robin was a choice, but I can only imagine the ribbing some poor kid would have gotten for choosing the Boy Wonder. We won't even address the obvious issues of being a non-white kid dressed in a two-dimensional reproduction of comic book characters with peach "flesh-toned" skin. And what if you wanted to be something else, like a cowboy or a motorcycle cop (just a reminder that I grew up in the 70s and 80s):

We've come a long way, but a lot of folks are having to adjust to the notion of gender as a construct. Kids have a lot of choices and the urge to guide them towards something gender-conforming is strong.  Fight it. That was the world as we knew it, when the fine seeds of intolerance that have become unwieldy weeds were sown. There are unisex costumes, and then there is everything else, some of which is hella problematic. But please, within reason, just let your kids be kids. 

Thanksgiving is the Wrestlemania of family gatherings. Everybody comes, knives out, and it is a grand battle royale until the last person standing is Big Mama cleaning up the kitchen. Every topic is fair game, even though that shouldn't be, and every conceivable bias is exposed. So just nip it at the bud upon entry and declare that the only shit talking is taking place after dinner over Spades. Don't allow any brown liquor dranking before dinner and confiscate all Hennessy at the door. Don't even go around the room to ask folks why they are thankful, just appoint someone to say the blessing over the food and get on with the meal. Protect every cousin in the crosshairs of the family drunk(s) at all costs. 

Because feelings can get hurt. Faces will have permanent cracks. Some folks may never recover from the implications that can follow from an inappropriate question or observation. I have never forgotten being asked about my romantic proclivities because I had never come to a family function with a significant other. Mind you, I was only 18 years old; thankfully, my Grandmother swooped in and shut down any additional questions that might have escalated my embarrassment. Years later, there were the uncomfortable questions about when I would start a family or if I planned to have another child. None of this is light-hearted banter, especially among people that you only see once a year.

So what then, if someone does show up as part of a same-gender loving couple? Or someone notes the absence of a particular cousin who might be living his/her truth? That's why we have Aunties--compliment the wrong one and start an argument over who brought the better side dish or dessert. As this is an perennial debate (and as such, acceptable dinner conversation), the goal from that point on will be to set the stage for the Christmas rematch. Advise new dinner guests not to show any preferences, because they will need vocal allies. And it is an undisputable fact that enthusiasm for an Auntie's mac and cheese and another Auntie's sweet potato pie means that they are going to defend you, no matter what.

Now, this is the point where we need to acknowledge that there are other holiday celebrations that take place during this last quarter of the year, namely Diwali (November 4) and Hanukkah (November 28-December 6). That could mean additional family gatherings for some blended couples, or alternative get-togethers in lieu of Christmas. Since I have never formally celebrated either, I cannot offer definitive statements about the dynamics of non-Christian gatherings; I am addressing un-Christian behavior here.  If you are a guest at one of these dinners, you don't need advanced familiarity with every custom, just be polite (but know that Google is free). If you extended the invitation to an outsider, you know your folks, so prepare your guest accordingly. 

Formally, the Christmas season begins just as the dessert gets served at Thanksgiving dinner. Half of the folks pack their to-go plates and head out to the mall, while those who remain begin to help the host Auntie put up the Christmas decorations. This is right about the time that your racist Uncle, who has been quiet for most of the gathering, will begin to reminisce about the good old days. The inherent danger in allowing this tirade is that he won't stop at just being racist or sexist, but he will go full on Trumpet to rail against everything. Your job, and you have no choice but to accept it, is to jump in the ring and spar until his itis sets in or Big Mama makes him take out the trash. The longest ten minutes of your life...

However, it is a necessary fight because this is why your parents mortgaged their home for your college education. This is why Big Mama brags about you to all of her friends. You're smart. This dude has been the family bully all of your life, and the shit that comes out of his mouth has traumatized folks for decades. He won't change nor will he listen, but the point is not to convert him. It is to send the message to the younger generation that this is not who we are and that his views are not universally held. That is, of course unless your entire family agrees with him...then you just need to pack up your to-go plate and bounce in that first wave of post-meal departures.

If you do stay, you already know the first complaint out of his mouth will be how Christmas just isn't the same as it was when he was growing up. Yeah, because you are no longer a naïve child who believes that some old guy moonlighting at the mall is the real Santa Claus or that your parents would allow a complete stranger in their home to leave you toys. But we're not here to spoil the magic for anyone too young to be cynical or tech savvy, so we'll let that one slide. What he is really lamenting is how his Boomer celebrations of the past never had to be inclusive or accommodating of other people's truths. His racist uncle or grandfather said whatever terrible things he wanted and no one would challenge him. It was better then because everybody knew their place, from the women to the hired help to the children to the pets--all of whom were terrified of him. Nowadays, nobody is scared of Uncle Tink Tink...

So when he starts in, ask him if the holidays are no longer the same because he's no longer welcome to pop up at his Baby Mama's house until the restraining order gets lifted? Or when was the last time he invited his mixed-raced grandchildren to dinner? Trust, Big Mama will have the trash bagged up in the kitchen waiting for him. And then he'll disappear to the basement for Spades. 

I was going to address various individual micro-aggressions in this paragraph, but rethought that in favor of issuing a blanket "Do no harm" in December. Err on the side of caution: don't send religious cards to non-Christians; don't send the dreaded Christmas morning group text; and don't get knee-jerk indignant over the design of your disposable coffee cup. Yes, times have changed and people are more sensitive now, but what does that make you if you are complaining that you actually have to be mindful about your holiday expressions? I thought the point was to wish the other person well... 

Do no harm when you see the retro toys and are tempted to buy your goddaughter a Holly Hobbie oven because you had one or a Rock'em Sock'em for your nephew. Your memories are cool and your intentions are honorable, but inquire with the parents to make sure that those kinds of gender-specific toys are appropriate first. Call, exchange pleasantries, and then ask if this is something they could use. 

Do no harm because the rules for the family Christmas dinner are pretty much the same as the Thanksgiving guidelines. The difference is that there may be several smaller get-togethers instead of one, so you might have to keep your game face beat for multiple outings. Get you some dressy stretchy pants and you can make it all the way through Kwanzaa and New Year's Eve! (We'll address Christmas and Kwanzaa etiquette at another time.)

Thankfully, almost everything ends at the stroke of midnight on New Year's Eve! I don't know anyone who goes out to anyplace other than church, so if we make it to December 31, that is where I plan to be (or at home watching it online because of the 'rona). I would offer guidance on how to politely decline some well-meaning person's invitation to the post-church meal that Big Mama had smelling up the house all day. But I will keep this simple and warn you in advance that it will involve pork, so take along your blood pressure pills and check your sugar. Depending on the neighborhood, you might want to linger in the church until the shooting stops...

And dassit! You may have read through this piece and wondered if it is even worth the effort to celebrate any holidays with all of these new rules and changes, and the answer is an emphatic DUH! So you will have to make adjustments because times have changed. It happens, just like the jheri curl went out of style and all of these kids are grown, we've got to keep up and keep going.  No, your sister doesn't cook the greens with fatback the way Big Mama did, but cooking with smoked turkey is healthier. You want to be around to complain next year, right? Well then get another helping and maybe add some string beans to that plate instead of some more carbs. See you soon!