"You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here."
~ Host of any black house party to remaining guests at 2:00 am
If you've ever gone to any black house party, a good black house party, you know the party starts to have its own momentum and takes on a life of its own. Left to its own devices, the party wouldn't stop. That is, until the host or hostess, mindful of their next day's obligations, says to the remaining guests, "You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here." No one is offended. It's just natural to note that all good things, even a really good party, has to come to an end. At that moment, the party goers have to make a decision -- Do I go home? Do I take this party somewhere else with this really cool group of people? Or do I just take someone home with me?
Well, my not-so-good party of an occupation has reached the same point. I don't know where I'm going, but I can't stay there. I think my season as an attorney is over. Truth is, it's been over for a long time. It's just been lingering on life support. No one who knows me well would tell you that I'm a happy attorney, even if they say I'm a good one.
The life support on which my time as an attorney has been lingering is my fear of letting go. I know what it is to be unemployed and underemployed, and when I was both (It's a long story), I promised God that if I could just find a secure attorney job, I'd be grateful and shut up about expecting to be happy and fulfilled within it. Happiness and fulfillment are not even on the radar screen when you're unemployed and underemployed
Well, I'm neither happy nor fulfilled, and I'm writing about it. Promise to God broken.
I have practiced law because I couldn't possibly imagine what else I could do that I would enjoy that someone would pay me a decent salary for. Because it was secure. Because it was the one thing I could do pretty well, even if I tend to be rather pedantic about it and impatient with others who don't work as hard at it or do as well at it as I do. That's not to say I'm some kind of law goddess - I'm just saying there are a lot of slacker lawyers out there getting paid far more than they should for shoddy work. For me, I'm doing the same thing, and using the same skills, over and over again. When I've tried to use other non-legal skills in the work place, I've been told to pretty much stay in my job description lane. That is, despite the fact that at least one of my ideas has been enacted into law and others have helped advance others politically, none of which I've benefited from.
None of that really matters. I've gotten to the point where I physically can't do this law thing anymore. Right now, my body has literally shut down. I've been ill for going on two weeks. The tedium of doing legal research and writing, shutting myself in my office, and trying to make myself concentrate on factual details and analyze countless cases has manifested itself in illness. Added to that is the stress of working for well-meaning people who don't understand what it takes to do what I do but want to control when and how I do it.
Then there's the guilt. Guilt about all the time, effort, and money put into my education by my parents. Guilt about the efforts of mentors like Derrick Bell who saw something in me that I didn't see in myself, who saw the potential for me to do great things in this profession. Guilt from all the family and friends who say, "But this is what you've always said you wanted to do since you were a child." Guilt from watching my husband get up and go to a far more stressful legal job and come home without complaint.
And before you lawyers out there tell me, "It's not the profession, it's your practice area," well, you're wrong. I've taught, I've been a law clerk, I've worked for a non-profit bar association, I've done all kinds of litigation and advice and counsel, and I've worked for law firms, a Fortune 500 corporation, and the government. I've done just about every feasible permutation on this law thing that can be done. Enough. Many of you well-meaning attorney friends of mine have only made it worse, asking me why I'm not on the bench or doing something more prestigious within the profession given my credentials.
Enough.
It's. Just. Time.
And, quite frankly, I don't know what I want to do. I'm what author Barbara Sher would call a "scanner" -- I have lots of interests, and pursuing them makes me seem flighty and unfocused to the rest of the world. I'd like to write a television series and books, sell real estate, start a charter school for gifted children of color, rehab Victorian houses, and live in Maui during the winter. Right now, if I could just sit out for six months and write, I'd be happy. Who doesn't have that dream? I want to analyze less and create more. I've burned out my left brain, or whichever side is supposed to be the logical and analytical side. Heck, I'd be happy to have a job where I actually get to talk to people -- that is, people who aren't in conflict.
So, in 2013, I'm hiring a career coach who specializes in helping "recovering lawyers" find their way out. I'm going to just start the process of looking into other options.
I don't know where I'm going, but I can't stay here in this profession. I'm pushing fifty, and I can't imagine continuing on this path.
Stay tuned. Oh, and note to self: Never let a child choose an adult's profession.
Let's Stop Flipping Thanksgiving the Bird
I had a great Thanksgiving yesterday. The meal I cooked wasn't up to my standards, but it was more than made up for by the good company and conversation around the dinner table. However, you couldn't watch anything on TV without being bombarded with Black Friday ads, most of which were really about Thursday night shopping. Thanksgiving has been turned into yet another American "shopportunity."
We Americans have joined corporate America in flipping Thanksgiving the bird.
Sure, there have always been stores that stayed open during Thanksgiving, but they were grocery stores that stayed open to give an assist to harried home cooks trying to put on a great meal for their families. They weren't clothing and electronic stores trying to push Black Friday ever more closer into to Thanksgiving or just straight up intruding on Thanksgiving.
After Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB) and I drove ahead of our Thanksgiving guests after dinner to help them find their way out of the maze that is our subdivision, we decided to drive by our local Target to see if people were that bereft of family or food that they would camp out at 7:30 pm on Thanksgiving just to shop early. They were and they did. I thought people here would have little bit more sense, but our Target had a line snaking around the front of the property. They were probably amped up on lattes from our local Starbucks, which closed for only four hours on Thanksgiving and re-opened Thanksgiving evening to service Black Friday shoppers.
BMNB is especially offended by the Black Friday tsunami into Thanksgiving because he really enjoys Thanksgiving. One, it's a food holiday, and BMNB loves food. Two, it's a family holiday, and he loves family even more than food. Three, Thanksgiving usually falls on or around his birthday. It's a joy trifecta for him. We couldn't even focus on preparing for and savoring Thanksgiving because all the stores skipped straight from Halloween to Christmas. Thanksgiving was just a passing thought for retailers. I couldn't even find decorations to make a decent Thanksgiving centerpiece because they were all gone the week before Thanksgiving.
Give me a flippin' break! Are flat screens and iPads more important than family, food, and fellowship? Really, America? Really?
Although I think Black Friday is an exercise in wretched excess, I'm willing to overlook the hype and the overload of ads if we just keep Black Friday to Friday and leave Thanksgiving alone. Corporate America can't succeed in pushing Black Friday into Thanksgiving if we just refuse to leave our dinner tables and our guests.
Let's stop flipping Thanksgiving the bird, America.
P.S. Happy 50th Birthday, BMNB!
We Americans have joined corporate America in flipping Thanksgiving the bird.
Sure, there have always been stores that stayed open during Thanksgiving, but they were grocery stores that stayed open to give an assist to harried home cooks trying to put on a great meal for their families. They weren't clothing and electronic stores trying to push Black Friday ever more closer into to Thanksgiving or just straight up intruding on Thanksgiving.
After Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB) and I drove ahead of our Thanksgiving guests after dinner to help them find their way out of the maze that is our subdivision, we decided to drive by our local Target to see if people were that bereft of family or food that they would camp out at 7:30 pm on Thanksgiving just to shop early. They were and they did. I thought people here would have little bit more sense, but our Target had a line snaking around the front of the property. They were probably amped up on lattes from our local Starbucks, which closed for only four hours on Thanksgiving and re-opened Thanksgiving evening to service Black Friday shoppers.
BMNB is especially offended by the Black Friday tsunami into Thanksgiving because he really enjoys Thanksgiving. One, it's a food holiday, and BMNB loves food. Two, it's a family holiday, and he loves family even more than food. Three, Thanksgiving usually falls on or around his birthday. It's a joy trifecta for him. We couldn't even focus on preparing for and savoring Thanksgiving because all the stores skipped straight from Halloween to Christmas. Thanksgiving was just a passing thought for retailers. I couldn't even find decorations to make a decent Thanksgiving centerpiece because they were all gone the week before Thanksgiving.
Give me a flippin' break! Are flat screens and iPads more important than family, food, and fellowship? Really, America? Really?
Although I think Black Friday is an exercise in wretched excess, I'm willing to overlook the hype and the overload of ads if we just keep Black Friday to Friday and leave Thanksgiving alone. Corporate America can't succeed in pushing Black Friday into Thanksgiving if we just refuse to leave our dinner tables and our guests.
Let's stop flipping Thanksgiving the bird, America.
P.S. Happy 50th Birthday, BMNB!
Let It Be, and Pray the Serenity Prayer
"Let it be." ~ The Beatles
"Whatever it is, let it be." ~ Jill Scott
I was watching Super Soul Sunday on OWN, and Eckhart Tolle said something that was what Oprah would call "a slap upside the head," or what I would call a spiritual b-slap: "Stress comes from wanting something to be what it isn't."
Word. I have spent way too much of this great year wanting things to be what they aren't and expending time to make them what I wanted. Some of that time was just straight-up wasted.
Now the holidays are coming, and I know many of you are going to want things to be what they aren't.
You're going to want your family to get along.
You're going to want to afford to do things you can't afford to do.
You're going to want to make people happy.
Before you continue wanting things to be what they aren't, my advice to you -- and to me -- is to stop.
Just stop.
Take a deep breath.
And pray the Serenity Prayer: "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."
Emphasize "the wisdom to know the difference." That's where I've failed this year -- not knowing what I could and could not change.
Then look at what it is you want to be different and ask yourself, "Is this something I have the power to change?" If it involves other people's actions or situations, more often than not, the answer is, "No."
Then, in the words of Jill Scott, "Whatever it is, let it be." And let go of the stress of wanting it to be otherwise.
Happy Holidays,
BWB
"Whatever it is, let it be." ~ Jill Scott
I was watching Super Soul Sunday on OWN, and Eckhart Tolle said something that was what Oprah would call "a slap upside the head," or what I would call a spiritual b-slap: "Stress comes from wanting something to be what it isn't."
Word. I have spent way too much of this great year wanting things to be what they aren't and expending time to make them what I wanted. Some of that time was just straight-up wasted.
Now the holidays are coming, and I know many of you are going to want things to be what they aren't.
You're going to want your family to get along.
You're going to want to afford to do things you can't afford to do.
You're going to want to make people happy.
Before you continue wanting things to be what they aren't, my advice to you -- and to me -- is to stop.
Just stop.
Take a deep breath.
And pray the Serenity Prayer: "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."
Emphasize "the wisdom to know the difference." That's where I've failed this year -- not knowing what I could and could not change.
Then look at what it is you want to be different and ask yourself, "Is this something I have the power to change?" If it involves other people's actions or situations, more often than not, the answer is, "No."
Then, in the words of Jill Scott, "Whatever it is, let it be." And let go of the stress of wanting it to be otherwise.
Happy Holidays,
BWB
Why Mitt Romney and the GOP Lost: Ask Maya Angelou
"When people show you who they are, believe them."
~ Dr. Maya Angelou
There's been a lot of punditry going on about Mitt Romney and the GOP's loss of the presidential election. It just isn't all that deep. Just ask Dr. Maya Angelou.
Dr. Angelou has been quoted a bazillion times for saying, "When people show you who they are, believe them." Simply put, Mitt Romney and the GOP showed the American electorate who they are. And we believed them.
Mitt Romney showed us he's the kind of man who would strap his family's dog on the roof of the family minivan in a pet carrier. And we believed him, hugging our pets closer to us all the while.
Paul Ryan showed us he was the kind of person who would decry entitlements for everyone else despite the fact that he collected Social Security as a minor after his father died. And we believed him.
The GOP showed us they have hated President Obama since day one of his presidency, when they vowed to make him a "one term president." They showed us over and over again during the primaries, when more than a few of their candidates made making President Obama a one term president their rallying cry, with little to no substance in their campaigns. And we believed them.
Mitt Romney showed us he was willing to tack hard to the right on immigration and abortion during the primaries and then attempt to Etch-a-Sketch his way to the center during the presidential campaign, backing off of his hard right positions. And we believed him.
Mitt Romney showed us, albeit inadvertently, that he had contempt for 47% of the country. And we believed him.
Mitt Romney showed us he was not only willing to outright lie about his position on the auto industry bailout, but to lie and say that the auto industry planned to ship jobs to China, so much so that the CEO of Chrysler had to blast him publicly. And we believed him.
The GOP showed us that they were willing to lie about voter fraud to make the case for making it more difficult for minority communities to vote, even down to the outrageous curtailment of early voting in minority communities and the enactment of voter ID laws. And we believed them, so much so that we flipped the script and voted absentee, since most states don't require an ID for absentee ballots because the GOP STILL thinks that only old, white Republicans vote absentee.
The GOP showed us they were willing to lie about President Obama's record, creating this false narrative of him being a failed president. And we believed them - not the false narrative, but that they were willing to lie to create such a false narrative.
Mitt Romney showed us that he was willing to make a tragedy political, to wit, the raid on the U.S. Embassy in Libya. In a presidential debate, no less. And we believed him.
Mitt Romney showed us that he was willing to back away from his most significant accomplishment in elected office -- health care reform, or "Romneycare," because it was politically expedient. And we believed him.
And even after defeat, Mitt Romney ungraciously stated that President Obama won because of the "gifts" he bestowed on minorities and women.
No, Mitt, you lost because you showed us who you are. Despite the mainstream media's pathetic failure to hold you to account for your flip-flopping, despite the Super PAC money that the titans of industry poured into your campaign, despite having Karl Rove on your team, the voters were not distracted. You showed us who you are. We paid attention. And we believed you.
That's why you and the GOP lost.
Just ask Maya Angelou.
~ Dr. Maya Angelou
There's been a lot of punditry going on about Mitt Romney and the GOP's loss of the presidential election. It just isn't all that deep. Just ask Dr. Maya Angelou.
Dr. Angelou has been quoted a bazillion times for saying, "When people show you who they are, believe them." Simply put, Mitt Romney and the GOP showed the American electorate who they are. And we believed them.
Mitt Romney showed us he's the kind of man who would strap his family's dog on the roof of the family minivan in a pet carrier. And we believed him, hugging our pets closer to us all the while.
Paul Ryan showed us he was the kind of person who would decry entitlements for everyone else despite the fact that he collected Social Security as a minor after his father died. And we believed him.
The GOP showed us they have hated President Obama since day one of his presidency, when they vowed to make him a "one term president." They showed us over and over again during the primaries, when more than a few of their candidates made making President Obama a one term president their rallying cry, with little to no substance in their campaigns. And we believed them.
Mitt Romney showed us he was willing to tack hard to the right on immigration and abortion during the primaries and then attempt to Etch-a-Sketch his way to the center during the presidential campaign, backing off of his hard right positions. And we believed him.
Mitt Romney showed us, albeit inadvertently, that he had contempt for 47% of the country. And we believed him.
Mitt Romney showed us he was not only willing to outright lie about his position on the auto industry bailout, but to lie and say that the auto industry planned to ship jobs to China, so much so that the CEO of Chrysler had to blast him publicly. And we believed him.
The GOP showed us that they were willing to lie about voter fraud to make the case for making it more difficult for minority communities to vote, even down to the outrageous curtailment of early voting in minority communities and the enactment of voter ID laws. And we believed them, so much so that we flipped the script and voted absentee, since most states don't require an ID for absentee ballots because the GOP STILL thinks that only old, white Republicans vote absentee.
The GOP showed us they were willing to lie about President Obama's record, creating this false narrative of him being a failed president. And we believed them - not the false narrative, but that they were willing to lie to create such a false narrative.
Mitt Romney showed us that he was willing to make a tragedy political, to wit, the raid on the U.S. Embassy in Libya. In a presidential debate, no less. And we believed him.
Mitt Romney showed us that he was willing to back away from his most significant accomplishment in elected office -- health care reform, or "Romneycare," because it was politically expedient. And we believed him.
And even after defeat, Mitt Romney ungraciously stated that President Obama won because of the "gifts" he bestowed on minorities and women.
No, Mitt, you lost because you showed us who you are. Despite the mainstream media's pathetic failure to hold you to account for your flip-flopping, despite the Super PAC money that the titans of industry poured into your campaign, despite having Karl Rove on your team, the voters were not distracted. You showed us who you are. We paid attention. And we believed you.
That's why you and the GOP lost.
Just ask Maya Angelou.
Words of Wisdom That Have Blessed Me
"You have to acknowledge and accept the fact that you can't have or be everything all at the same time."
~ Teri Hatcher, as quoted in "Career Comeback: Repackage Yourself to Get the Job You Want," Lisa Johnson Mandell
Gentle Readers, you know how I am: If I find something that I think will help someone, I feel compelled to share it. Well, these past few days, I've been treated to -- no, blessed with -- some real words of wisdom that have not only lifted me, but freed me. Perhaps they'll do the same for you.
First are words of wisdom from my second-oldest sister (SOS). Before I begin, let me tell you the value of having older sisters around when your mother is deceased. Older sisters are like vaults of your late mom's wisdom, if for no other reason, because they knew your mom longer than you did and have more of her wisdom. When I'm feeling down or blue, I love talking to my sisters -- all of my sisters are older than me -- because they'll just say something that my mom would have said to me if she were here that snaps me out of my situation and gives me a better perspective. I'm so glad I was blessed in the birth order department, even if I didn't get the smokin' hot legs SOS got.
I was telling SOS how I felt tired and depleted after hosting a family meeting recently as part of my family's revolution. We've finished all the education modules, and now we're discussing a book recommended by one of my BFFs, "The On-Purpose Person: Making Your Life Make Sense," by Kevin W. McCarthy. SOS essentially gave my a spiritual b-slap with words to this effect: Stop trying to be everything to everybody. She counseled me that, as much as I have hopes and dreams for the younger folks in my family, people have to come into their own on their own and in their own time. SOS told me that holding family meetings and trying to create a sense of family and support that others clearly don't want as much as I want for them -- as evidenced by their absence -- is a waste of time. "They're not there yet, " SOS counseled, and they will get there, if they do, on their schedule, not mine.
BOOM! Talk about a revelation! Now I don't feel so bad about reclaiming my one Saturday a month for my book club and delegating the hosting and organizing of family meetings to others, to the extent that they want to keep the meetings going. They're not there yet.
I was also blessed with words of wisdom from one of my book club members, Joann, who turned 70 last week and doesn't look a day over 45. God has been good to Joann. That's not to say she hasn't had her struggles -- who hasn't?-- but she looks good and has a happy spirit. When I asked Joann for words of wisdom to reach the age of 70 looking and feeling like she does, she gave me these words of wisdom someone imparted upon her:
1) Find a church;
2) Keep a job;
3) Rest.
Of these three, she said the most important was getting enough rest.
Well, if you're looking for a church, or a house of worship of any faith, my soror Pamay Bassey has done the search work for you. Her book, "My 52 Weeks of Worship: Lessons from a Global, Spiritual, Interfaith Journey," chronicles her visits to a different house of worship each week for a year. I have to admit -- Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB) is happily ensconced in the Baptist church, and I've not followed. I used to think that, as a married couple, we should endeavor to share the same faith for the sake of our kids (yes, we're moving along with our adoption plans.) As I get older, I'm not so sure. My dad is a member of the Apostolic church, an offshoot of the Church of God in Christ, while my mother's family has been in the African Methodist Episcopal church for decades (although I have a distant cousin who attends the same church as my husband.). My parents seemed to have reached a religious detente during their marriage. To be frank, I haven't even begun the search for a church, happily not worshipping at St. Mattress of the Springs in my bedroom on Sunday mornings. I'm letting go of the idea that BMNB and I need to share the same faith. I need to find my own spiritual path, even if it's different than his. Pamay's book is a good place to start.
As for keeping a job, I've done that, but I want more than a job: I want a calling. That leads me to some words of wisdom imparted upon me by a former law teaching colleague who, like Joann, has been blessed with fabulous genes (she doesn't look a day over 40 and she's in her 60's), and an even more fabulous spirit. I told her how frustrated I am about continuing in the practice of law when I feel I have other skills and talents I want to use, but I just don't know how. First, she encouraged me to just keep writing. Then she said these words of wisdom: "Be patient. Keep searching for your calling. When you find it, you will know." Patience has never been my strong suit, but I'd rather be patient and get what I want than be impatient and settle for something less.
Finally, SOS gave me some words of wisdom specifically for married women: "Don't get lost in your marriage." She cops to having done so in her marriage, which ended in divorce. "If you get all lost in your marriage, make that man your entire world, and stop keeping in touch with your family and friends, what will you have if he leaves you? Who will you have to talk to?" I wouldn't say that I'm lost in my marriage (and perhaps I'm in denial on this one), but I am abysmal at keeping in touch with people who have been there for me. In fact, I owe more than a few family members and friends some phone calls right now.
Perhaps I need to heed my own words of wisdom.
I hope these words of wisdom bless you as much as they have blessed me, Gentle Readers. Thanks for continuing to read and support my little postage stamp of the blogosphere.
BWB
~ Teri Hatcher, as quoted in "Career Comeback: Repackage Yourself to Get the Job You Want," Lisa Johnson Mandell
Gentle Readers, you know how I am: If I find something that I think will help someone, I feel compelled to share it. Well, these past few days, I've been treated to -- no, blessed with -- some real words of wisdom that have not only lifted me, but freed me. Perhaps they'll do the same for you.
First are words of wisdom from my second-oldest sister (SOS). Before I begin, let me tell you the value of having older sisters around when your mother is deceased. Older sisters are like vaults of your late mom's wisdom, if for no other reason, because they knew your mom longer than you did and have more of her wisdom. When I'm feeling down or blue, I love talking to my sisters -- all of my sisters are older than me -- because they'll just say something that my mom would have said to me if she were here that snaps me out of my situation and gives me a better perspective. I'm so glad I was blessed in the birth order department, even if I didn't get the smokin' hot legs SOS got.
I was telling SOS how I felt tired and depleted after hosting a family meeting recently as part of my family's revolution. We've finished all the education modules, and now we're discussing a book recommended by one of my BFFs, "The On-Purpose Person: Making Your Life Make Sense," by Kevin W. McCarthy. SOS essentially gave my a spiritual b-slap with words to this effect: Stop trying to be everything to everybody. She counseled me that, as much as I have hopes and dreams for the younger folks in my family, people have to come into their own on their own and in their own time. SOS told me that holding family meetings and trying to create a sense of family and support that others clearly don't want as much as I want for them -- as evidenced by their absence -- is a waste of time. "They're not there yet, " SOS counseled, and they will get there, if they do, on their schedule, not mine.
BOOM! Talk about a revelation! Now I don't feel so bad about reclaiming my one Saturday a month for my book club and delegating the hosting and organizing of family meetings to others, to the extent that they want to keep the meetings going. They're not there yet.
I was also blessed with words of wisdom from one of my book club members, Joann, who turned 70 last week and doesn't look a day over 45. God has been good to Joann. That's not to say she hasn't had her struggles -- who hasn't?-- but she looks good and has a happy spirit. When I asked Joann for words of wisdom to reach the age of 70 looking and feeling like she does, she gave me these words of wisdom someone imparted upon her:
1) Find a church;
2) Keep a job;
3) Rest.
Of these three, she said the most important was getting enough rest.
Well, if you're looking for a church, or a house of worship of any faith, my soror Pamay Bassey has done the search work for you. Her book, "My 52 Weeks of Worship: Lessons from a Global, Spiritual, Interfaith Journey," chronicles her visits to a different house of worship each week for a year. I have to admit -- Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB) is happily ensconced in the Baptist church, and I've not followed. I used to think that, as a married couple, we should endeavor to share the same faith for the sake of our kids (yes, we're moving along with our adoption plans.) As I get older, I'm not so sure. My dad is a member of the Apostolic church, an offshoot of the Church of God in Christ, while my mother's family has been in the African Methodist Episcopal church for decades (although I have a distant cousin who attends the same church as my husband.). My parents seemed to have reached a religious detente during their marriage. To be frank, I haven't even begun the search for a church, happily not worshipping at St. Mattress of the Springs in my bedroom on Sunday mornings. I'm letting go of the idea that BMNB and I need to share the same faith. I need to find my own spiritual path, even if it's different than his. Pamay's book is a good place to start.
As for keeping a job, I've done that, but I want more than a job: I want a calling. That leads me to some words of wisdom imparted upon me by a former law teaching colleague who, like Joann, has been blessed with fabulous genes (she doesn't look a day over 40 and she's in her 60's), and an even more fabulous spirit. I told her how frustrated I am about continuing in the practice of law when I feel I have other skills and talents I want to use, but I just don't know how. First, she encouraged me to just keep writing. Then she said these words of wisdom: "Be patient. Keep searching for your calling. When you find it, you will know." Patience has never been my strong suit, but I'd rather be patient and get what I want than be impatient and settle for something less.
Finally, SOS gave me some words of wisdom specifically for married women: "Don't get lost in your marriage." She cops to having done so in her marriage, which ended in divorce. "If you get all lost in your marriage, make that man your entire world, and stop keeping in touch with your family and friends, what will you have if he leaves you? Who will you have to talk to?" I wouldn't say that I'm lost in my marriage (and perhaps I'm in denial on this one), but I am abysmal at keeping in touch with people who have been there for me. In fact, I owe more than a few family members and friends some phone calls right now.
Perhaps I need to heed my own words of wisdom.
I hope these words of wisdom bless you as much as they have blessed me, Gentle Readers. Thanks for continuing to read and support my little postage stamp of the blogosphere.
BWB
This Time, I'm Voting for Obama Because He's Black
This time, I'm voting for President Obama because he's black. Before you accuse me of "playing the race card," a phrase I find offensive because it is intended to thwart any meaningful and real discussion of race and racism in America, hear me out.
Last time, I voted for President Obama because I believed he was the candidate with the better intellect and temperament to deal with the challenges American would face.
I was not disappointed. I knew that there was no way he was going to be able to reverse the tsunami that would become the Great Recession in only four years. But you could not have told me that the GOP would have, from day one, conspired to make President Obama a "one-term president" before he had even done anything to deserve such animus. To my knowledge, the GOP didn't even conspire to make Roosevelt a "one-term president," and his agenda was decidedly more radical than President Obama's.
You cannot tell me in good conscience that we'd even be saying that a white president who accomplished all of the following and more in four freakin' years was a "failed president":
So I've already voted for Barack Obama because he's black. Since he's not been graded fairly because of his race, I've decided to balance the unspoken racial bias with my racially biased vote. As a fellow African-American Ivy League-educated professional, I totally get it. Been there, got the "unspoken racial bias" t-shirt many times over. Hell, it's not like a whole lot of evangelical white folks aren't holding their noses about Romney's religion and voting for him just because he's white.
As Iyanla Vanzant says, "Call a thing a thing." If Barack Obama were white, we wouldn't even be talking about a close race. Nor would he have been treated with more disrespect than any sitting president I can recall in my 49 years in these united states.
Yep, I said it. And I'm not playing the "race card." I'm playing the "reality card."
Get over it.
Last time, I voted for President Obama because I believed he was the candidate with the better intellect and temperament to deal with the challenges American would face.
I was not disappointed. I knew that there was no way he was going to be able to reverse the tsunami that would become the Great Recession in only four years. But you could not have told me that the GOP would have, from day one, conspired to make President Obama a "one-term president" before he had even done anything to deserve such animus. To my knowledge, the GOP didn't even conspire to make Roosevelt a "one-term president," and his agenda was decidedly more radical than President Obama's.
You cannot tell me in good conscience that we'd even be saying that a white president who accomplished all of the following and more in four freakin' years was a "failed president":
- The Lily Ledbetter Act
- The Consumer Protection Agency
- Appointing two women to the Supreme Court
- Ending the war in Iraq
- Earning a Nobel Peace Prize
- Health care reform
- Taking out Osama bin Laden and most of the top leadership in Al Qaeda
- Saving the U.S. auto industry
- Ending "Don't Ask, Don't Tell"
- Deferring deportation of Dreamers
- Keeping the entire U.S. economy from going off a cliff
So I've already voted for Barack Obama because he's black. Since he's not been graded fairly because of his race, I've decided to balance the unspoken racial bias with my racially biased vote. As a fellow African-American Ivy League-educated professional, I totally get it. Been there, got the "unspoken racial bias" t-shirt many times over. Hell, it's not like a whole lot of evangelical white folks aren't holding their noses about Romney's religion and voting for him just because he's white.
As Iyanla Vanzant says, "Call a thing a thing." If Barack Obama were white, we wouldn't even be talking about a close race. Nor would he have been treated with more disrespect than any sitting president I can recall in my 49 years in these united states.
Yep, I said it. And I'm not playing the "race card." I'm playing the "reality card."
Get over it.
Living in the Monkey House
I picked up a copy of Tim Gunn's "Gunn's Golden Rules: Life's Little Lessons for Making It Work," at the Dollar Tree and happened on this passage that I think applies to a whole lot of people in life:
When presented with bizarre circumstances -- such as radical (and radically unappealing) cosmetic surgery -- I'll mutter, "That person is living in the monkey house."
What does this phrase mean? I'm assuming that most readers have been to a monkey house at a zoo. The stench of it is like nothing I've experienced. Every time I visit, I can't help but declare, "This place stinks!" Well, after about ten or fifteen minutes, it no longer smells as bad. And after half an hour, it doesn't smell at all.
The trouble with that is the following: It still stinks. We're merely used to it, so the smell disappears to us. However, anyone walking into the monkey house anew is going to scream, "This place stinks!"
Tim Gunn, "Gunn's Golden Rules: Life's Little Lessons for Making It Work," at p. 171.
There are a whole lotta folks I know who are living in the monkey house, myself included.
How often do we accept the bizarre or the substandard in our lives because we're used to it and, even worse, it's all we know? I know folks who are putting up with bizarre situations because they either fear moving out of those situations or they simply don't know any other way to live. Some are happier than pigs in you-know-what living in their monkey houses because they don't want to make the effort to get out of them.
I realized my co-workers and I have been living in the monkey house when an outsider made a remark about how we carry on our business in a way like no other agency, and she didn't mean it in a good way. We'd been doing the same thing for some long without any outside observation that it just stopped being bizarre to us. That didn't mean what we were doing wasn't bizarre; it just meant that we'd gotten used to it, and, up until recently, no one had ever told us how bizarre what we were doing was.
When confronted with the stench of our own monkey houses, oftentimes we respond, "But this is the way we've always done it." That's why Tim Gunn has banned this phrase from his office, stating, "There's always room for improvement." So true.
I doubt I'll be able to convince my co-workers, family and friends that they are living in the monkey house. At least I'm one step ahead of the game because, unlike them, I haven't lost my sense of smell, so to speak. I know a monkey house when I smell it.
When presented with bizarre circumstances -- such as radical (and radically unappealing) cosmetic surgery -- I'll mutter, "That person is living in the monkey house."
What does this phrase mean? I'm assuming that most readers have been to a monkey house at a zoo. The stench of it is like nothing I've experienced. Every time I visit, I can't help but declare, "This place stinks!" Well, after about ten or fifteen minutes, it no longer smells as bad. And after half an hour, it doesn't smell at all.
The trouble with that is the following: It still stinks. We're merely used to it, so the smell disappears to us. However, anyone walking into the monkey house anew is going to scream, "This place stinks!"
Tim Gunn, "Gunn's Golden Rules: Life's Little Lessons for Making It Work," at p. 171.
There are a whole lotta folks I know who are living in the monkey house, myself included.
How often do we accept the bizarre or the substandard in our lives because we're used to it and, even worse, it's all we know? I know folks who are putting up with bizarre situations because they either fear moving out of those situations or they simply don't know any other way to live. Some are happier than pigs in you-know-what living in their monkey houses because they don't want to make the effort to get out of them.
I realized my co-workers and I have been living in the monkey house when an outsider made a remark about how we carry on our business in a way like no other agency, and she didn't mean it in a good way. We'd been doing the same thing for some long without any outside observation that it just stopped being bizarre to us. That didn't mean what we were doing wasn't bizarre; it just meant that we'd gotten used to it, and, up until recently, no one had ever told us how bizarre what we were doing was.
When confronted with the stench of our own monkey houses, oftentimes we respond, "But this is the way we've always done it." That's why Tim Gunn has banned this phrase from his office, stating, "There's always room for improvement." So true.
I doubt I'll be able to convince my co-workers, family and friends that they are living in the monkey house. At least I'm one step ahead of the game because, unlike them, I haven't lost my sense of smell, so to speak. I know a monkey house when I smell it.
Angry Feet (Don't Wanna Be A Player No More)
I'll be the first to admit it: I buy shoes the same way I used to date in the '90's.
In the '90's, after Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB) and I had broken up for the second time, I started dating for the first time since 1982. I was attracted to the same qualities in men then that I tend to be attracted to in shoes now: Cute, unsupportive, and ultimately harmful to my well-being. Back then, I'd date a good-looking brother who could talk a good game and look good on my arm at events, even if he was unsupportive of me and harmful to my psyche. I dated guys who looked good but weren't good for me. And I kept repeating the cycle, like some kind of psycho player.
I also used to wear killer shoes back then, and I mean killer -- high-heeled pumps and my favorite, pointed-toe slingback heels, my drug of choice. I wore killer shoes so much that I had a doctor tell me I had to stop wearing heels every day or risk damaging the tendons in my calves. I was prescribed flats. It was an ugly time in my life. Literally.
Fast forward to today, and I've settled down with BMNB, who has all the qualities I should be able to find together in a shoe but can't: Cute, supportive, and comfortable. Somehow, comfort and cuteness are mutually exclusive in women's shoes. But now I'm older, and my feet are angry, angry at me specifically, because I keep wearing shoes that are the equivalent of my '90's dating criteria -- cute, unsupportive, and ultimately harmful to my well-being. The pinched toe box of pointed-toe shoes has done damage to my feet, and to add to the mix, I now have plantar fasciitis, which means I shouldn't wear flats or any shoe that doesn't have a substantial arch support. I wear shoes that are so cute and painful that I can barely make it from the parking lot to my office building without limping. I keep a pair of tennis shoes and a pair of flats -- which I shouldn't wear -- at the office and wear the cute shoes only to meetings. I dare not walk far in the cute shoes. But damn, they sure do look good.
And my feet are angry and in pain. What's a shoe girl to do?
Well, my middle sister, who is also a shoe fiend with plantar fasciitis, told me that my choices pretty much come down to Clark's. My doctor, who laughed at me when I told her I was having foot pain at the same time she saw that I was wearing a pair of brown suede -- you guessed it -- pointed-toe slingback heels, told me, "I pretty much gave up on wearing cute shoes a long time ago." When I looked down at her shoes, a pair of black Clark's Mary Jane flats, I pretty much agreed. Ugh.
Today, after looking at Clark's, Hush Puppies, Softt pumps and Bjorn clogs, I broke down and bought the shoe equivalent of an ugly but good man -- a pair of Aerosoles with a stubby heel and a rounded toe box. They look like Minnie Mouse's shoes. They're not sexy, and they know it. I know it, too. Ugh.
But just like I stopped running through cute men who weren't good for me, perhaps I need to stop running through cute shoes that aren't good for me. When it comes to shoes, to borrow a turn of phrase from the late Big Pun, I don't wanna be a player no more. It's more important to have shoes that are comfortable and supportive, even if they aren't cute, then to continue to harm my feet with numerous cute shoes that hurt. I'm not going to lie, though -- I did throw in a pair of tan snakeskin Circa Joan and David pointed-toe kitten-heel slingbacks that were on sale. They didn't hurt. Yet.
I'm still looking for the shoe equivalent of BMNB -- cute, supportive, and comfortable. I don't think I'm going to find it, though.
In the '90's, after Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB) and I had broken up for the second time, I started dating for the first time since 1982. I was attracted to the same qualities in men then that I tend to be attracted to in shoes now: Cute, unsupportive, and ultimately harmful to my well-being. Back then, I'd date a good-looking brother who could talk a good game and look good on my arm at events, even if he was unsupportive of me and harmful to my psyche. I dated guys who looked good but weren't good for me. And I kept repeating the cycle, like some kind of psycho player.
I also used to wear killer shoes back then, and I mean killer -- high-heeled pumps and my favorite, pointed-toe slingback heels, my drug of choice. I wore killer shoes so much that I had a doctor tell me I had to stop wearing heels every day or risk damaging the tendons in my calves. I was prescribed flats. It was an ugly time in my life. Literally.
Fast forward to today, and I've settled down with BMNB, who has all the qualities I should be able to find together in a shoe but can't: Cute, supportive, and comfortable. Somehow, comfort and cuteness are mutually exclusive in women's shoes. But now I'm older, and my feet are angry, angry at me specifically, because I keep wearing shoes that are the equivalent of my '90's dating criteria -- cute, unsupportive, and ultimately harmful to my well-being. The pinched toe box of pointed-toe shoes has done damage to my feet, and to add to the mix, I now have plantar fasciitis, which means I shouldn't wear flats or any shoe that doesn't have a substantial arch support. I wear shoes that are so cute and painful that I can barely make it from the parking lot to my office building without limping. I keep a pair of tennis shoes and a pair of flats -- which I shouldn't wear -- at the office and wear the cute shoes only to meetings. I dare not walk far in the cute shoes. But damn, they sure do look good.
And my feet are angry and in pain. What's a shoe girl to do?
Well, my middle sister, who is also a shoe fiend with plantar fasciitis, told me that my choices pretty much come down to Clark's. My doctor, who laughed at me when I told her I was having foot pain at the same time she saw that I was wearing a pair of brown suede -- you guessed it -- pointed-toe slingback heels, told me, "I pretty much gave up on wearing cute shoes a long time ago." When I looked down at her shoes, a pair of black Clark's Mary Jane flats, I pretty much agreed. Ugh.
Today, after looking at Clark's, Hush Puppies, Softt pumps and Bjorn clogs, I broke down and bought the shoe equivalent of an ugly but good man -- a pair of Aerosoles with a stubby heel and a rounded toe box. They look like Minnie Mouse's shoes. They're not sexy, and they know it. I know it, too. Ugh.
But just like I stopped running through cute men who weren't good for me, perhaps I need to stop running through cute shoes that aren't good for me. When it comes to shoes, to borrow a turn of phrase from the late Big Pun, I don't wanna be a player no more. It's more important to have shoes that are comfortable and supportive, even if they aren't cute, then to continue to harm my feet with numerous cute shoes that hurt. I'm not going to lie, though -- I did throw in a pair of tan snakeskin Circa Joan and David pointed-toe kitten-heel slingbacks that were on sale. They didn't hurt. Yet.
I'm still looking for the shoe equivalent of BMNB -- cute, supportive, and comfortable. I don't think I'm going to find it, though.
Born In The 47% (A Million Little Miracles)
You know, I kind of feel sorry for ol' Mittens Romney. He's the only presidential candidate in my recent memory who has successfully opened up a can of whoopass on his damn self. That said, I, like, say,47% of the country, took offense at his remarks about the 47%. Because, unbeknownst to me until recently, I was born into the 47%, at least for a while.
Like ol' Mittens, I, too, used to be on my high horse about people on public assistance. I would see women at the Winco with their manicured nails handing over their EBT cards or hearing in the news about folks using their EBT cards at casinos and I would think to myself, "This is just wrong. I get up and go to work every day, took a pay cut, cut coupons, and watch every penny, and they're going to casinos and getting their nails done." I started to look down on healthy-appearing folks on public assistance and started to voice my disdain of them to my family members.
Until my oldest brother informed me that I, too, had been on public assistance.
My oldest brother, whom I will refer to as "He Who Is Wise" (HWIW for short), told me about the real deal of my existence in my early days on this earth. It appears (and I may be getting this wrong since it's family stuff that happened before my memories formed) that my dad loaned his car to a family member who had an accident in that car and had no insurance. The judgment against my dad wiped him out -- our family lost the house we were living in and had to move in with friends of the family. During that time, my dad moved out so that my mom could qualify for food stamps for their six kids, me being among them.
HWIW informed me that our dad hadn't abandoned the family; he just did what he had to do financially to, in the words of the Beverly Hillbillies, "keep his family fed."
This little fact checking of my past made me realize that the things I thought were normal about my life were indeed not normal. That the position in which I sit now -- well-education black woman from a two-parent family where both parents had jobs, benefits and pensions despite the fact that neither had graduated high school -- was not normal at all, but the product of a million little miracles.
It was a miracle that I was born to married parents.
It was a miracle that my parents stayed together.
It was a miracle that my parents had jobs with benefits and pensions, even though neither of them graduated high school.
It was a miracle that my parents were homeowners (eventually).
It was a miracle that I went to good public schools.
It was a miracle that I graduated high school
It was a miracle that I was admitted to Stanford, Princeton and Harvard.
It was a miracle that my parents stressed education and never gave me the option of not considering college because of the cost.
It was a miracle that my parents discussed world events at the dinner table and made my siblings and me think for ourselves and sharpen our critical thinking skills. To this day, we can spot an idiot a mile out.
Most importantly, it was a miracle that my parents were able to get off public assistance.
Sure, what my parents did is what parents should do, but there's a huge difference between "should" and "could" in America. What I thought was normal in my life and what I've been able to do with my life is really the result, the amalgamation, if you will, of a million little miracles. Miracles that didn't happen to many other people.
I understand that some of ol' Mittens' family were on public assistance at some time, like mine.
So before you look down on women with manicured fingernails who use EBT cards at the Winco, check yourselves. They don't represent all folks on public assistance any more than I do, even though being on public assistance is an experience we both have in common. There is no one type of person on public assistance or in need.
And, Mittens (and Lyin' Paul Ryan, for that matter), before you criticize folks on public assistance, you might want to make sure that you or your family weren't among them at some point in time.
That's what I learned from my brother, HWIW.
Like ol' Mittens, I, too, used to be on my high horse about people on public assistance. I would see women at the Winco with their manicured nails handing over their EBT cards or hearing in the news about folks using their EBT cards at casinos and I would think to myself, "This is just wrong. I get up and go to work every day, took a pay cut, cut coupons, and watch every penny, and they're going to casinos and getting their nails done." I started to look down on healthy-appearing folks on public assistance and started to voice my disdain of them to my family members.
Until my oldest brother informed me that I, too, had been on public assistance.
My oldest brother, whom I will refer to as "He Who Is Wise" (HWIW for short), told me about the real deal of my existence in my early days on this earth. It appears (and I may be getting this wrong since it's family stuff that happened before my memories formed) that my dad loaned his car to a family member who had an accident in that car and had no insurance. The judgment against my dad wiped him out -- our family lost the house we were living in and had to move in with friends of the family. During that time, my dad moved out so that my mom could qualify for food stamps for their six kids, me being among them.
HWIW informed me that our dad hadn't abandoned the family; he just did what he had to do financially to, in the words of the Beverly Hillbillies, "keep his family fed."
This little fact checking of my past made me realize that the things I thought were normal about my life were indeed not normal. That the position in which I sit now -- well-education black woman from a two-parent family where both parents had jobs, benefits and pensions despite the fact that neither had graduated high school -- was not normal at all, but the product of a million little miracles.
It was a miracle that I was born to married parents.
It was a miracle that my parents stayed together.
It was a miracle that my parents had jobs with benefits and pensions, even though neither of them graduated high school.
It was a miracle that my parents were homeowners (eventually).
It was a miracle that I went to good public schools.
It was a miracle that I graduated high school
It was a miracle that I was admitted to Stanford, Princeton and Harvard.
It was a miracle that my parents stressed education and never gave me the option of not considering college because of the cost.
It was a miracle that my parents discussed world events at the dinner table and made my siblings and me think for ourselves and sharpen our critical thinking skills. To this day, we can spot an idiot a mile out.
Most importantly, it was a miracle that my parents were able to get off public assistance.
Sure, what my parents did is what parents should do, but there's a huge difference between "should" and "could" in America. What I thought was normal in my life and what I've been able to do with my life is really the result, the amalgamation, if you will, of a million little miracles. Miracles that didn't happen to many other people.
I understand that some of ol' Mittens' family were on public assistance at some time, like mine.
So before you look down on women with manicured fingernails who use EBT cards at the Winco, check yourselves. They don't represent all folks on public assistance any more than I do, even though being on public assistance is an experience we both have in common. There is no one type of person on public assistance or in need.
And, Mittens (and Lyin' Paul Ryan, for that matter), before you criticize folks on public assistance, you might want to make sure that you or your family weren't among them at some point in time.
That's what I learned from my brother, HWIW.
Don't Laugh. It's Paid For.
I drive a 2007 Honda Accord EX with a huge crack in the windshield. There's nothing fancy about it other than it's color, red.
Don't laugh. It's paid for.
You see, I hate having a car payment. For the first six years after I graduated law school, I didn't have one. In my family, we recycle cars. We hand them down. After graduation from law school in 1990, I was handed down a 1981 Honda Prelude. Red. That car had been purchased by my oldest sister when I graduated high school. In 1988, she purchased another Honda and handed the '81 Prelude down to my sister The Writing Diva. I don't recall how I ended up with it, but I did.
I literally drove it until it fell apart some 15 years after it was purchased, all my fault for taking out the undercarriage on a curb. Given that that '81 Prelude had already survived one car accident, it was a shame how I ended up taking it out. It ran like a dream. All I had to do was keep the oil changed, get regular tune-ups, and replace the tires. Whenever I came home, my dad would even wash and wax the car for me. Even toward then end, when my friends would laugh and say, "When are you finally going to get a new car?", I would respond, "Why do I need a new car when this one is paid for?" From 1990 to 1996, I had no car payment. Sweet.
I bought my first car in 1996 when I totaled the '81 Prelude, trading up for a Honda Accord. The '96 Accord was crushed by a moving van in 1998 and replaced with a 1998 Honda Accord (See a trend here?). From 2003 to 2007, I again had no car payment. I had every intention of driving that '98 Honda Accord until the wheels fell off.
I ended up handing it down to my nephew and buying the 2007 Honda Accord that is officially mine, all mine, today. The '98 Accord is still running. And now I'm gunning for my family's continuous car ownership record, held by my middle sister -- 22 years of driving the same car.
We're a buy and hold kind of family when it comes to cars. We typically drive our cars until the wheels fall off and duct tape will no longer do. Why? Because we HATE having car payments. My oldest sister who replaced her '81 Honda Prelude with an '88 Honda Accord drove that '88 Accord until 2007, 19 years. But the family champ is my middle sister, who drove a '78 Toyota Corolla until 2000, replacing it with a 2000 Honda Accord. Twenty-two years she rode in that Corolla, with duct tape on the bumper and red tape on the rear tail lights at the end. I'm looking to beat her record and buy my next car used and for cash. Right now I'm competing with my dad, who's been driving a '98 Acura for a while.
And yes, I'll get that cracked windshield fixed now that I no longer have a car payment. I refuse to make an insurance claim. I've already made enough of them on this car.
But don't laugh. It's paid for.
Don't laugh. It's paid for.
You see, I hate having a car payment. For the first six years after I graduated law school, I didn't have one. In my family, we recycle cars. We hand them down. After graduation from law school in 1990, I was handed down a 1981 Honda Prelude. Red. That car had been purchased by my oldest sister when I graduated high school. In 1988, she purchased another Honda and handed the '81 Prelude down to my sister The Writing Diva. I don't recall how I ended up with it, but I did.
I literally drove it until it fell apart some 15 years after it was purchased, all my fault for taking out the undercarriage on a curb. Given that that '81 Prelude had already survived one car accident, it was a shame how I ended up taking it out. It ran like a dream. All I had to do was keep the oil changed, get regular tune-ups, and replace the tires. Whenever I came home, my dad would even wash and wax the car for me. Even toward then end, when my friends would laugh and say, "When are you finally going to get a new car?", I would respond, "Why do I need a new car when this one is paid for?" From 1990 to 1996, I had no car payment. Sweet.
I bought my first car in 1996 when I totaled the '81 Prelude, trading up for a Honda Accord. The '96 Accord was crushed by a moving van in 1998 and replaced with a 1998 Honda Accord (See a trend here?). From 2003 to 2007, I again had no car payment. I had every intention of driving that '98 Honda Accord until the wheels fell off.
I ended up handing it down to my nephew and buying the 2007 Honda Accord that is officially mine, all mine, today. The '98 Accord is still running. And now I'm gunning for my family's continuous car ownership record, held by my middle sister -- 22 years of driving the same car.
We're a buy and hold kind of family when it comes to cars. We typically drive our cars until the wheels fall off and duct tape will no longer do. Why? Because we HATE having car payments. My oldest sister who replaced her '81 Honda Prelude with an '88 Honda Accord drove that '88 Accord until 2007, 19 years. But the family champ is my middle sister, who drove a '78 Toyota Corolla until 2000, replacing it with a 2000 Honda Accord. Twenty-two years she rode in that Corolla, with duct tape on the bumper and red tape on the rear tail lights at the end. I'm looking to beat her record and buy my next car used and for cash. Right now I'm competing with my dad, who's been driving a '98 Acura for a while.
And yes, I'll get that cracked windshield fixed now that I no longer have a car payment. I refuse to make an insurance claim. I've already made enough of them on this car.
But don't laugh. It's paid for.
My Family's Revolution: Home Ownership
Well, my family's revolution has come to an end. And a beginning, of sorts. We've discussed family mission statements, credit, budgets, sou-sous, gentle nudges, financial literacy, estate planning and career planning, and entrepreneurship. The last two modules of our series of talks, titled, "Something to Think About," were to address home ownership and educating our children.
While we were cruising our way toward finishing up the modules on home ownership and educating our kids, real life got in the way. A revered elder was stricken with cancer but has not only survived, but thrived with chemo. Another family member faced a life-threatening illness but continues to fight back. God is good, all the time.
Needless to say, we all got a little distracted, and family meetings had to be postponed. We finally finished in August, and I'm going to devote separate blog entries to the home ownership module and the education module. This one is for home ownership.
First things first: Despite the housing market meltdown, I'm still a believer in home ownership. Why?
Because a home is usually the largest asset in the average American's portfolio, and most of us aren't savvy enough to make money off of stocks, bonds, and other investments alone.
Because of the mortgage interest deduction, for however long it lasts. For the life of me I can't understand paying rent for your entire life, getting a paltry renter's credit, if at all, and having nothing to show for all the rent you paid when you retire. I just don't get it.
Because home ownership, done properly, creates stability in your family. I've been on the poopy end of the rental stick, having been given 60 days' notice to move out of our rental solely because the landlord wanted to move back in. As long as I pay my mortgage, I have a place to stay that can't be taken away from me at someone else's whim. This is especially important when you have children.
Mind you, even if you pay off your home, you're not going to make a lot off of it in the long run unless there's another real estate bubble. That said, it is an asset that you can control and, to a certain extent, borrow against for large future expenses should you so choose, which I would not.
Because once you pay it off, you can hand it down to your children. A house is the biggest intergenerational wealth transfer for most average Americans. The ability to hand a house down to your children can, if done wisely, help them to maintain a middle-class lifestyle. Because we African Americans tend to have lower home ownership rates than whites, we tend to hand down less wealth to our children. However, home ownership rates for southern African Americans have usually been higher than for African Americans in other parts of the country.
I did not present the module on home ownership. Mary Assadi, an extraordinary realtor with Keller Williams and a friend of Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB), did. Mary outlined the basic home buying process and help us understand the different kinds of real estate loans you can get. More on that later.
What I did provide was a list of all the things BMNB and I did right and wrong in buying our home. They are:
Resources
Mary Assadi http://maryassadi.com/
Eric Tyson and Ray Brown, "Home Buying Kit for Dummies "
While we were cruising our way toward finishing up the modules on home ownership and educating our kids, real life got in the way. A revered elder was stricken with cancer but has not only survived, but thrived with chemo. Another family member faced a life-threatening illness but continues to fight back. God is good, all the time.
Needless to say, we all got a little distracted, and family meetings had to be postponed. We finally finished in August, and I'm going to devote separate blog entries to the home ownership module and the education module. This one is for home ownership.
First things first: Despite the housing market meltdown, I'm still a believer in home ownership. Why?
Because a home is usually the largest asset in the average American's portfolio, and most of us aren't savvy enough to make money off of stocks, bonds, and other investments alone.
Because of the mortgage interest deduction, for however long it lasts. For the life of me I can't understand paying rent for your entire life, getting a paltry renter's credit, if at all, and having nothing to show for all the rent you paid when you retire. I just don't get it.
Because home ownership, done properly, creates stability in your family. I've been on the poopy end of the rental stick, having been given 60 days' notice to move out of our rental solely because the landlord wanted to move back in. As long as I pay my mortgage, I have a place to stay that can't be taken away from me at someone else's whim. This is especially important when you have children.
Mind you, even if you pay off your home, you're not going to make a lot off of it in the long run unless there's another real estate bubble. That said, it is an asset that you can control and, to a certain extent, borrow against for large future expenses should you so choose, which I would not.
Because once you pay it off, you can hand it down to your children. A house is the biggest intergenerational wealth transfer for most average Americans. The ability to hand a house down to your children can, if done wisely, help them to maintain a middle-class lifestyle. Because we African Americans tend to have lower home ownership rates than whites, we tend to hand down less wealth to our children. However, home ownership rates for southern African Americans have usually been higher than for African Americans in other parts of the country.
I did not present the module on home ownership. Mary Assadi, an extraordinary realtor with Keller Williams and a friend of Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB), did. Mary outlined the basic home buying process and help us understand the different kinds of real estate loans you can get. More on that later.
What I did provide was a list of all the things BMNB and I did right and wrong in buying our home. They are:
1.
Not checking out our realtor. We used our realtor (who was not Mary -- we didn't know Mary was a realtor when we bought) because his mother had
name recognition and expertise in our real estate market. Although we did have access to her through
him, we should have found someone who was more experienced and who listened
more to what we wanted.
2.
Not seeking a mortgage through an independent
mortgage broker. We got our mortgage through Wells Fargo because
1) they did FHA loans; 2) they did CalPERS loans; and 3) BMNB banked with them
(my credit union did not do CalPERS loans). An independent mortgage broker has access to
a variety of loan products; a bank will only sell you what they have to offer,
and they probably won’t keep your loan in their portfolio. In our case, Wells Fargo eventually sold our
loan to Citibank, who later sold it to another bank.
3.
Not being clear on how much we wanted to spend. I wanted to spend more, BMNB wanted to spend
less. The realtor agreed with me, for
obvious reasons. BMNB had to set him
straight. It wasn't pretty.
4.
Buying a home in a new and incomplete neighborhood. We were lured to our relatively new
neighborhood by signs saying “School coming soon” and “Park coming soon.” Well, soon never came, and neither did the
school and the parks. Both the school
district and the city ran out of money.
Never buy in a new neighborhood that isn’t completely built out.
5.
Not checking out the finances of the school district
and the city. We should have never believed the parks and
schools signs and should have read the financial reports for both the city and
the school district to see if they really did have the money to finish the
parks and the schools. They didn't.
6.
Not double-checking the amount that needed to be impounded
for taxes. When you don't put down at least 20% for your house, your lender will require you to pay money in addition to your mortgage each month to cover the twice annual property tax bill, private mortgage insurance bill, and homeowner insurance bill. This additional money is held by the lender, or "impounded," until these bills become due, and the lender pays them. The bank got the amount of our monthly impound wrong, and we had to
play catch-up to pay back the amounts that weren’t impounded.
7.
Not checking on whether the neighbors next door were
renters. Not that all renters are bad – we were
renters, too. When you buy, however, you
don’t want to live next door to a rental house because you never know who your
neighbors are going to be for the long haul.
We specifically asked our realtor to check on this but he didn’t, and we
didn’t follow up. Our next-door
neighbors to the north are renters.
8.
Not checking on future development plans for nearby
neighborhoods. We didn’t know that a new neighborhood was
slated to be constructed near our neighborhood.
The school district doesn’t have the money to build additional schools,
and our neighborhood school is crowded as it is. When the new neighborhood comes on board, our
neighborhood school will be overcrowded and the streets may be gridlocked with
morning commuters.
9.
Not negotiating to have all or part of our
Mello-Roos bond paid. A Mello-Roos bond is a bond that all buyers
of new houses in California are responsible for paying to pay for the neighborhood
infrastructure such as sewers, lighting, etc.
They run from twenty to forty years.
You can negotiate to have the seller pay part or the entire Mello-Roos bond
or to lower the price of the home to compensate for the price of the Mello-Roos
bond. Buyers don’t like to buy houses
with huge Mello-Roos bonds, which will ultimately make our house harder to sell. Yep, we're pretty much sitting on rental property. Thanks, Henry Mello and Mike Roos.
10.
Not checking on where the local utilities are
located in relation to our house.
We knew that the railroad tracks were two blocks behind our home. What we didn’t know was that there’s a
petroleum gas line that runs right alongside the railroad tracks. Think San Bruno.
Here
are the successes BMNB and I had in buying our home:
1.
Using our own inspector. We wanted an inspector who didn’t have an
interest in the outcome, such as someone who was referred to us by our realtor.
2.
Checking out future freeway plans for the
neighborhood. We knew that a freeway bypass was slated to
come through our neighborhood, but we went to the CalTrans office to make sure
the bypass wasn’t going to be too close to our house.
3.
Buying a home that will suit us for the next ten
years. BMNB and I knew we planned to adopt, so we
wanted a home that would be big enough for the family we planned to have, not
the family we had.
4.
Getting a CalPERS loan. CalPERS no longer does home loans, but one of
the requirements of the loan program was to keep fees low.
5.
Buying in a neighborhood with a Home Owners
Association (HOA). A lot of people don’t like living in
neighborhoods with HOA’s because they don’t like all the rules. We like the rules because the rules keep your
neighbors from doing things to their property that brings down the value of
yours, e.g., painting their houses hot pink or parking their cars on the front
yard. It works for us, but it may not be
for everybody.
6.
Buying a foreclosure. Relatively speaking, we got a good deal. The down side? The house continued to lose value. That’s why we had to make sure it was
someplace we’d be happy to stay in for a while.
7.
Checking out the neighborhood at all times of the
day and night before buying. BMNB and I
made trips to our neighborhood during all hours of the day and night to get an idea of
what the neighborhood was really like – the sights and sounds during all hours
of the day – and to see how we would be received.
8.
Buying a house that suited our life style. BMNB and I are homebodies who like suburban
life. We like living someplace that is
quiet, safe, family-oriented, and away from congested cities. We chose our neighborhood because it was
affordable, safe, quiet and family-oriented.
Think about your own lifestyle – e.g., whether you are an urbanite who
likes to walk to the grocery store and ride your bike to work – before you buy
your house.
9. Getting a fixed rate loan. We got an FHA (Federal Housing Administration) 30 year fixed loan, which means that our monthly mortgage payments will be the same for the entire 30 years of the loan. No adjustable rates, no balloon payments, no interest-only loans.
9. Getting a fixed rate loan. We got an FHA (Federal Housing Administration) 30 year fixed loan, which means that our monthly mortgage payments will be the same for the entire 30 years of the loan. No adjustable rates, no balloon payments, no interest-only loans.
Here is A VERY BASIC GUIDE to home buying process as laid out by Mary Assadi with notes added by me. You should definitely consult a realtor and learn more about the process:
1. Initial consultation and market education: This is where you meet with your realtor to discuss what you're looking for and for your realtor to educate you about the real estate market you'll be dealing with. A good realtor tries to find out what you want and what your lifestyle is and then tries to find houses to fit you, not the other way around. And no good realtor should try to talk you into a house you cannot afford. (The old rule of thumb I'd always heard was that your home should not cost more than 2-3 times your gross annual income, but that may not always apply.)
2. Loan prequalification or preapproval: Prequalification is when your banker or mortgage broker reviews your credit, income and assets and determines how large a mortgage they think you would qualify for. Preapproval is when the banker or mortgage broker actually commits to you that you are approved for a certain amount of a mortgage. I would highly suggested getting preapproved instead of prequalified so you don't waste the realtor's time. With preapproval, you can lock in a mortgage rate for a certain number of days to allow you to find a home.
3. Viewing property.
4. Finding a home and submitting an offer. This is where you need to engage and trust your realtor. There can be some strategy to submitting an offer, especially if you are competing with other buyers. Your realtor's experience will be crucial to helping you put in an offer that stands out from all the others.
5. Negotiating terms. Your seller may reject your offer and provide a counteroffer. Negotiating the terms of the offer is an area of expertise for your realtor.
6. Accepted Offer! Yay! Now, the transaction enters three separate tracks that lead to closing, e.g., when you sign the loan documents.
a. Inspections, disclosures, and contingencies:
i. Schedule home inspection and review seller's disclosures of defects or things that need repair.
ii. Have home inspection and, if necessary, request that the seller make repairs before the transaction can go forward.
iii. Remove contingencies, e.g., conditions that need to be met in order for the buyer and/or seller to agree to the sale, such as requests for repair.
b. Escrow and Title
i. Open an escrow account and have earnest money deposited. An escrow account is an account controlled by a neutral third party, typically an escrow or title company, into which money for the sale of the house is deposited and held until all the contingencies are met. Earnest money is money you pay to show that you are serious about the transaction, and it is credited against the total price of the house.
ii. Get a preliminary title report and homeowners insurance information. A title report shows all the times the house has been sold and who bought it. It helps you know that the person who is selling you the house actually owns it. The title report will also reveal if there are any liens against the property. You will want all liens to be paid before closing.
c. Loan application
i. Submit a formal loan application and collect documentation for the loan. You will need bank statements, income tax returns, and all kinds of documents in order to qualify for a mortgage.
ii. Order appraisal; loan package submitted to underwriter. The bank will order an appraisal of the house to make sure it's worth what you're paying for it and worth the mortgage they're going to give you for it. Your loan application, once completed with all the proper documentation, will be sent by your banker or mortgage broker to their underwriting department, who will determine whether you qualify for the loan or if they have additional questions you need to answer in order to get the loan.
iii. Loan approval and responding to conditions: Your mortgage loan may be approved, but with conditions, e.g., explaining where you got your earnest money from, explaining things on your credit report. Once your respond to the underwriter's conditions in a way that satisfies the underwriter, you get your mortgage loan.
7. Sign loan documents at title company and provide a cashier's check for the required closing funds, also called "closing." Your closing costs may include fees related to the cost of escrow, the title search, the inspection, etc. You should get a Good Faith Estimate (GFE) in advance of signing the loan documents so you know how much of your own money you need to have in cashier's check at the time.
8. Lender funds the loan. Once you've signed all the loan documents and paid all the closing costs, the lender pays the amount of the mortgage loan to the buyer.
9. Title is recorded in your name and confirmation is received. Once the lender funds the loan, ownership, or "title," passes from the seller to the buyer by recording "title" with the county assessor. Once title is recorded, the house is officially yours.
10. GET THE KEYS TO YOUR NEW HOME!
Here are some examples of types of mortgage loan programs, courtesy of Mary Assadi:
Conventional Loans
- 20% down payment (no mortgage insurance)
- 3-5% down payment (mortgage insurance w/lower debt to income ratio)
- 3.875 interest rate (as of 5/4/12) for a 30-year fixed
- 3.00% interest rate (as of 5/4/12) for a 15-year fixed
- Impounds optional
- 3.5% down payment (up front and monthly mortgage insurance)
- 3.75% interest rate (as of 5/4/12) for a 30-year fixed.
- Impounds required
- 1 % down payment (upfront and monthly mortgage insurance)
- 3% down payment by CALHFA is a silent second mortgage on home (due upon sale with simple interest)
- Higher credit scores required
- Same interest rate on FHA loan for the first mortgage
- 3% down payment without mortgage insurance
- Only available on Fannie Mae foreclosure properties
- Interest rate usually 1 - 1.5% higher than available FHA rate
Resources
Mary Assadi http://maryassadi.com/
Eric Tyson and Ray Brown, "Home Buying Kit for Dummies "
The GOP Pussy Riot: Shit Just Got Real
Soooo . . . . the GOP, from ol' Mittens down to Karl Rove, are running for the hills and taking their money with them, trying to distance themselves from the ignorance that is Missouri GOP senate candidate Todd Akin. Akin got on a local TV show and revealed his complete and utter ignorance about female physiology, telling us that. with a "legitimate rape," the female body can somehow shut down conception. After getting woodshedded by his party superiors, he walked back his statement, apologizing for using the term "legitimate rape." The entire GOP is telling Akin to drop out no later than today so they can put another candidate in his place.
WTF?
What we have going on here is a GOP pussy riot. It's not that they're ashamed of Akin's uninformed and antiquated views. Heck, Paul Ryan and many GOPers have sponsored bills with Akin to eliminate abortion rights except for "legitimate rape," whatever that is. And there are many ignorant GOP members who share Akin's ignorant view on conception, as if an ovum can outrun sperm that comes from "legitimate rape." Oh no, it's just that President Obama has a commanding lead among women and the GOP can't afford to fall further behind. So they're using their former ally Akin as a whipping boy. If they can literally get him off the stage, they can continue to distract us from what they would do with women's reproductive rights if they had all the power to do so and hide their ignorant views on rape.
I, for one, want Akin to stay in the race. Let's go ahead and have that debate about abortion rights and what the GOP would really do if they were in control. Mind you, I'm not all that hyped about abortion. I don't support it as a choice in my life, although I'm way past the age of having to make that decision. I'm for all the contraception a woman can get so she never has to make the choice to abort a child. But I have a major problem with men deciding this issue for women. Let's have a pussy riot for real.
Let's talk about rape and the fact that there is no such thing as "legitimate" rape. "No" means "no," and rape is rape.
Let's talk about the inconsistency of opposing contraception that would make abortion not even be an option and opposing abortion, too. About making women have children against their will, regardless of their religious beliefs.
Let's talk about basic conception -- that an ovum can't tell whether sperm comes from rape.
In fact, let's just go all out and talk about all the ways the GOP has put the rights of women in their cross hairs.
The GOP started this pussy riot; let's finish it. Shit just got real.
WTF?
What we have going on here is a GOP pussy riot. It's not that they're ashamed of Akin's uninformed and antiquated views. Heck, Paul Ryan and many GOPers have sponsored bills with Akin to eliminate abortion rights except for "legitimate rape," whatever that is. And there are many ignorant GOP members who share Akin's ignorant view on conception, as if an ovum can outrun sperm that comes from "legitimate rape." Oh no, it's just that President Obama has a commanding lead among women and the GOP can't afford to fall further behind. So they're using their former ally Akin as a whipping boy. If they can literally get him off the stage, they can continue to distract us from what they would do with women's reproductive rights if they had all the power to do so and hide their ignorant views on rape.
I, for one, want Akin to stay in the race. Let's go ahead and have that debate about abortion rights and what the GOP would really do if they were in control. Mind you, I'm not all that hyped about abortion. I don't support it as a choice in my life, although I'm way past the age of having to make that decision. I'm for all the contraception a woman can get so she never has to make the choice to abort a child. But I have a major problem with men deciding this issue for women. Let's have a pussy riot for real.
Let's talk about rape and the fact that there is no such thing as "legitimate" rape. "No" means "no," and rape is rape.
Let's talk about the inconsistency of opposing contraception that would make abortion not even be an option and opposing abortion, too. About making women have children against their will, regardless of their religious beliefs.
Let's talk about basic conception -- that an ovum can't tell whether sperm comes from rape.
In fact, let's just go all out and talk about all the ways the GOP has put the rights of women in their cross hairs.
The GOP started this pussy riot; let's finish it. Shit just got real.
GOP "Gaslighting" the American Electorate
To hear ol' Mittens Romney and Paul Ryan tell it, President Obama has plunged the American economy over the cliff, and only they -- the GOP -- are in a position to rescue America. Even Mrs. Romney has bought into and perpetuated the narrative of Mittens as "Superman" saving America.
WTF?
This is what could best be described as the GOP "gaslighting" the American public.
The term "gaslighting" comes from the movie "Gas Light," in which a husband tries to make his wife think she is crazy so that others will, too. According to Wikipedia:
Gaslighting is a form of psychological abuse in which false information is presented with the intent of making a victim doubt his or her own memory and perception. It may simply be the denial by an abuser that previous abusive incidents ever occurred, or it could be the staging of bizarre events by the abuser with the intention of disorienting the victim.
So when I hear Paul Ryan say that President Obama made our economy worse, I know for damn sure I'm being gaslighted. What President Obama did, consistent with what President George Bush did before him, was to keep the American economy from going off the cliff by keeping the banks AND the Detroit auto industry in business. And I really feel like I'm being gaslighted when the press reports that Paul Ryan voted for TARP.
Like my doctor says, just as no one ever gives a doctor credit for the heart attack her patient didn't have, no one ever gives a politician credit for the crisis he averted.
What's even more "gaslighty" about this is that they want to revert to the policies that almost pushed the country off the economic cliff and roll back the limited protections put in place by President Obama under their rubric that less regulation is good for all of America, not just their corporate cronies. NOT.
Let's face it -- if a white man of EITHER political party had kept the banks afloat, kept Detroit in business, passed a stimulus package that not only augmented the budgets of several states in recessionary times but also kept many teachers and public safety officers on the job, ended a war, created a consumer protection agency focused on reigning in financial institutions' wretched excess, passed health care reform that allowed people to get coverage DESPITE pre-existing conditions and put their 23 year-old kids back on their health care insurance, ended "Don't Ask, Don't Tell," signed the Lily Ledbetter law, AND freakin' killed Osama bin Laden, we wouldn't even be talking about a re-election. We'd be talking about a coronation.
What the GOP won't cop to is that they've been trying to derail this president from day one.
Well I, for one, refuse to be gaslighted. And I think the American public will refuse to be, too, in November.
WTF?
This is what could best be described as the GOP "gaslighting" the American public.
The term "gaslighting" comes from the movie "Gas Light," in which a husband tries to make his wife think she is crazy so that others will, too. According to Wikipedia:
Gaslighting is a form of psychological abuse in which false information is presented with the intent of making a victim doubt his or her own memory and perception. It may simply be the denial by an abuser that previous abusive incidents ever occurred, or it could be the staging of bizarre events by the abuser with the intention of disorienting the victim.
So when I hear Paul Ryan say that President Obama made our economy worse, I know for damn sure I'm being gaslighted. What President Obama did, consistent with what President George Bush did before him, was to keep the American economy from going off the cliff by keeping the banks AND the Detroit auto industry in business. And I really feel like I'm being gaslighted when the press reports that Paul Ryan voted for TARP.
Like my doctor says, just as no one ever gives a doctor credit for the heart attack her patient didn't have, no one ever gives a politician credit for the crisis he averted.
What's even more "gaslighty" about this is that they want to revert to the policies that almost pushed the country off the economic cliff and roll back the limited protections put in place by President Obama under their rubric that less regulation is good for all of America, not just their corporate cronies. NOT.
Let's face it -- if a white man of EITHER political party had kept the banks afloat, kept Detroit in business, passed a stimulus package that not only augmented the budgets of several states in recessionary times but also kept many teachers and public safety officers on the job, ended a war, created a consumer protection agency focused on reigning in financial institutions' wretched excess, passed health care reform that allowed people to get coverage DESPITE pre-existing conditions and put their 23 year-old kids back on their health care insurance, ended "Don't Ask, Don't Tell," signed the Lily Ledbetter law, AND freakin' killed Osama bin Laden, we wouldn't even be talking about a re-election. We'd be talking about a coronation.
What the GOP won't cop to is that they've been trying to derail this president from day one.
Well I, for one, refuse to be gaslighted. And I think the American public will refuse to be, too, in November.
It's Not Just a Table; It's a Tradition
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When you look at this table, it looks like an old, beat up, unloved piece of furniture. A hot ghetto mess if you will.
There's so much more to this table than meets the eye. It's not just a table; it's a tradition.
This table is a solid maple Colonial-style dining table that my parents bought sometime during the 1960's. It is the only dinner table I ever knew in our household growing up. With its three leaves, it can seat up to ten people. Sometimes during the holidays, our eight-member family needed the extra space for guests. They don't make tables like this anymore. When I say it's solid maple, I mean just that -- no veneers, no composite wood. Solid maple. It takes at least two people to lift it. At least.
I'm pretty sure I learned to walk leaning on the legs of this table. My late mother, SWIE (She Who Is Exalted), took great care of this table. Despite the fact that she had six children and she never allowed us to eat in any part of the house but at this table, she kept a foam protective cover on the table and a fresh, ironed tablecloth on top of the cover every single day, even into her illness with Alzheimer's and cancer before she died. Every week or two, but never more than three, she would remove the soiled tablecloth, pull back the protective cover, polish the table and chairs, replace the protective cover, and iron a clean tablecloth and put it on top of the protective cover. When she died, my oldest sister, who would later inherit my parents' house, took over caring for the table. In my lifetime, I have never dined or eaten at this table without its foam protective cover and a tablecloth on it, despite the fact that every home meal I had growing up, every Christmas Dinner I ate before my mother died (except for one, when I was studying abroad), every Thanksgiving Dinner I ate before my mother died, was eaten at this table.
I used to sit and do my homework at this table while my mom cooked dinner. it was years before my feet reached the floor.
My sisters and I used to comb my grandmother's hair when she sat at this table. We were mesmerized by her hair's soft, straight texture, which was nothing like any of ours.
We debated politics and current affairs with my dad at this table, who insisted that everyone have an opinion no matter what their age. We debated everything from the Equal Rights Amendment, to comparable worth (remember that?), to re-electing Nixon (Dad voted for Nixon, despite my strenous objections, even at age 9), to Watergate, to O.J. Simpson's guilt (my dad and my brothers admitted they thought O.J. did it, but said they'd never tell white people that).
I was sitting at this table doing Calculus problems when they announced on the radio that John Lennon had been shot and killed.
I sat at this table and announced to my family, with great shame, that I had failed the California State Bar Exam, to which my mother replied, "Everybody falls down. I'll let you lay down there for a little while and feel sorry for yourself. But then you have to get back up." I did, and I later passed.
We had our first Christmas dinner that my mother did not cook at this table, because my mother no longer remembered her Christmas recipes due to Alzheimer's disease.
So I guess by now you're wondering how it got to look like a hot ghetto mess?
Because we made the mistake of passing it down to the generation behind us, AKA, "The Generation That Values Nothing" or TGTVN.
You see, we thought the table and its chairs, despite their unfortunate Colonial style, would mean something to TGTVN because it had been passed down from my parents to us to them. We siblings thought that TGTVN would care for the table and enjoy family and holiday dinners with their children at the table as we had.
And I'm sure they did, and then some. But not with any care for the table.
No foam protective covering, no tablecloth, nothing. They let their kids color and glue and eat and spill and mark on top of this solid maple table without a care. To them, it was just an old relic. Maybe they didn't remember watching my mother iron a tablecloth each weekend or so to replace the soiled one, or maybe they didn't remember her getting out the Pledge and polishing a table top that no one would ever see because it was too beautiful not to be covered.
I wish it were so. But the truth is, they didn't value it because they didn't have to work for it, like many things they've received from our generation that they didn't have to work for. We made the mistake of trying to help them so they wouldn't have to struggle as much, so that every generation would do better than the next.
That was our mistake. We assumed too much. And, as my oldest brother said, we deprived them of the lessons that come from struggle, the lessons that come from having to work for something you want or need. We also did not share with them the love that my mother had for and put into that table.
Well, TGTVN left the table behind in the garage at my parents' old house, which they had rented from its current owner, my brother, who had bought the house from my sister. I had seen the table before in TGTVN's possession its current state and offered to buy it back. I was told that I could buy it once they got a new table. They never did.
So when I saw the table in my brother's garage, left upside-down on concrete, no less, I made arrangements to bring it to my house. The picture of it above was taken in my garage. Yes, I stole the table, with my brother's blessing. The chairs? I never liked them, but I wouldn't have done to a cockroach what they did to those chairs. We found parts of the chairs in the front yard. Yes, parts. Of solid maple chairs. Just a hot ghetto mess.
So now I have my mother's table, plus the three leaves that go with it. I will have it professionally refinished. I will then put a protective cover on it, followed by a tablecloth. I will buy new upholstered chairs to go with it to kind of hide the Colonial stylings under the table that I never really liked.
And then my husband, my children to come (very soon, sometime before the end of the year if all goes well), and I will dine at this table. We will have our Christmas and Thanksgiving dinners on this table, this time with formal china. And I will tell them the history of this table, tell them of its solid construction, tell them the care that the grandmother they will never know put into this table. I will impart its history upon them.
We will start our new traditions at this table. Hopefully, they will value it more than the others in their generation. Because, as my sister The Writing Diva said, "It's not just a table; it's a tradition."
Gabby Douglas Is Not Her Hair
Sometimes, we black women don't know how to act.
We have the first African-American woman to win a gold medal in the all-around women's gymnastic competition in the Olympics, and sisters are criticizing her hair? Are you kidding me?
I've warned white folks to stay out the hair conversation when it comes to Malia's and Sasha Obama's hair. Now, to my black sisters: Grow up and stop projecting your own hair issues onto Gabby.
I am often among the hair challenged. Some days my hair is bouncin' and behavin', some days, not so much. But I'm too focused on handling my business to care if I've hit the hair mark each and every freakin' day. I've got far more important things to do than to worry about whether other people approve of my hair.
And, apparently, so does Gabby Douglas. Like coppin' two gold medals.
But I've seen this kind of criticism before. I recently spent time with a friend who just couldn't let go of the fact that a black woman newscaster we were watching failed to wear false eyelashes during a broadcast. She went on and on about how, with high definition television, the beauty bar had been raised for sisters on the air, and this sister, in her mind, had an epic beauty fail.
Not a mention was made about whether the sister newscaster was good at her job. She wasn't wearing false eyelashes.
Puh-leeze.
This black women's hair thing and our appearance in general isn't about that newscaster or Gabby Douglas. It's about how we as black women feel about our own appearances and hair and how we're projecting our own insecurities onto unsuspecting ACHIEVING black women in the public eye.
I, for one, hope Gabby Douglas isn't paying attention to any of this mess. She's got far too much to do that's more important than her hair. To her sister hair haters, I say, she's got two gold medals -- what you got? Yeah. That's what I thought.
For goodness' sake, don't ruin this young sister's triumph with your own issues about your hair and/or your appearance. Go handle your hair issues and let Gabby do her thing, which, by the way, she's doing quite well, thank you, ma'am.
In the words of India.Arie, Gabby Douglas is not her hair; she is not her skin, she is the soul that lives within.
Congrats, Gabby. And in the words of the late Billy Preston (way before your time), you are so beautiful to me.
We have the first African-American woman to win a gold medal in the all-around women's gymnastic competition in the Olympics, and sisters are criticizing her hair? Are you kidding me?
I've warned white folks to stay out the hair conversation when it comes to Malia's and Sasha Obama's hair. Now, to my black sisters: Grow up and stop projecting your own hair issues onto Gabby.
I am often among the hair challenged. Some days my hair is bouncin' and behavin', some days, not so much. But I'm too focused on handling my business to care if I've hit the hair mark each and every freakin' day. I've got far more important things to do than to worry about whether other people approve of my hair.
And, apparently, so does Gabby Douglas. Like coppin' two gold medals.
But I've seen this kind of criticism before. I recently spent time with a friend who just couldn't let go of the fact that a black woman newscaster we were watching failed to wear false eyelashes during a broadcast. She went on and on about how, with high definition television, the beauty bar had been raised for sisters on the air, and this sister, in her mind, had an epic beauty fail.
Not a mention was made about whether the sister newscaster was good at her job. She wasn't wearing false eyelashes.
Puh-leeze.
This black women's hair thing and our appearance in general isn't about that newscaster or Gabby Douglas. It's about how we as black women feel about our own appearances and hair and how we're projecting our own insecurities onto unsuspecting ACHIEVING black women in the public eye.
I, for one, hope Gabby Douglas isn't paying attention to any of this mess. She's got far too much to do that's more important than her hair. To her sister hair haters, I say, she's got two gold medals -- what you got? Yeah. That's what I thought.
For goodness' sake, don't ruin this young sister's triumph with your own issues about your hair and/or your appearance. Go handle your hair issues and let Gabby do her thing, which, by the way, she's doing quite well, thank you, ma'am.
In the words of India.Arie, Gabby Douglas is not her hair; she is not her skin, she is the soul that lives within.
Congrats, Gabby. And in the words of the late Billy Preston (way before your time), you are so beautiful to me.
Big Mama's Dead, So Get Your Shit Together
Most of us black folks who came of age in the '60's and '70's grew up with at least one matriarchal figure in the family who held things together and held up the triflin' folks in the family. This matriarch was usually older, someone who always kept a roof over her head, paid her bills, and always had a meal available for anyone who crossed her threshold. She always seemed to be able to dig down in her bra and find a twenty for someone to "hold," knowing full well she'd probably never get it back. She'd co-sign for some young'un in the family trying to get a car or some furniture and wouldn't think twice about mortgaging her house to get her child or grandchild out on bail. She was the kind of woman who maybe worked a menial job, cooked up a storm on Saturday night for family card games, and pulled herself together for Sunday school and making a huge Sunday dinner. She was Big Mama. And if there were an Olympic sport for putting everyone else first and ignoring your own health, the Big Mamas would have medaled for sure. They were overweight, ate a fat-laden diet, were often hypertensive or diabetic, and oftentimes smoked like chimneys.
Well, I've got news for the generations of black folks behind me. Big Mama's dead, so get your shit together.
Anyone in the generations behind me looking for that same kind of black matriarch to fill the shoes of the Big Mamas before her is destined to be disappointed. No one wants the role. I know I don't.
Times have changed, and nobody, least of all elderly black women, can afford to carry any other grown-ass adults who make unwise decisions and end up in need because of them. The financial setbacks that can come for co-signing for folks or mortgaging your house to help someone are far harder to overcome now than since the Great Depression. As my late mother, SWIE (She Who Is Exalted) used to say, "Money's as tight as Dick's hat band." As a child, I never knew who Dick was, but he and his hat band were always invoked when my mother didn't have it to give.
The Big Mamas of my childhood WERE the social safety net that government wasn't, or wasn't on time enough to be. They were the ones who would take folks in when they lost their jobs, who'd keep a drug-addicted niece or nephew from losing their kids to the foster care system, who not only raised their kids and their grandkids, but their great-grands as well.
Black mothers today do well just to raise the children they have. Elderly black women do well to keep a roof over their heads. Taking on the created problems of grown-ass people who don't have their shit together is more than most black women of any age can handle. And given how the Big Mamas of the past ignored their health tending to everyone else, well, that's not a model my generation wants to emulate.
So, if you don't have your shit together -- a steady job, a roof over your head, a way to take care of your own kids and stand on your own two feet, well, don't go looking for Big Mama. Big Mama's dead, and nobody's going to to replace her. Nobody wants to.
Well, I've got news for the generations of black folks behind me. Big Mama's dead, so get your shit together.
Anyone in the generations behind me looking for that same kind of black matriarch to fill the shoes of the Big Mamas before her is destined to be disappointed. No one wants the role. I know I don't.
Times have changed, and nobody, least of all elderly black women, can afford to carry any other grown-ass adults who make unwise decisions and end up in need because of them. The financial setbacks that can come for co-signing for folks or mortgaging your house to help someone are far harder to overcome now than since the Great Depression. As my late mother, SWIE (She Who Is Exalted) used to say, "Money's as tight as Dick's hat band." As a child, I never knew who Dick was, but he and his hat band were always invoked when my mother didn't have it to give.
The Big Mamas of my childhood WERE the social safety net that government wasn't, or wasn't on time enough to be. They were the ones who would take folks in when they lost their jobs, who'd keep a drug-addicted niece or nephew from losing their kids to the foster care system, who not only raised their kids and their grandkids, but their great-grands as well.
Black mothers today do well just to raise the children they have. Elderly black women do well to keep a roof over their heads. Taking on the created problems of grown-ass people who don't have their shit together is more than most black women of any age can handle. And given how the Big Mamas of the past ignored their health tending to everyone else, well, that's not a model my generation wants to emulate.
So, if you don't have your shit together -- a steady job, a roof over your head, a way to take care of your own kids and stand on your own two feet, well, don't go looking for Big Mama. Big Mama's dead, and nobody's going to to replace her. Nobody wants to.
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