A friend of one of my Facebook friends posted that he saw no sizable difference in the number of comments from African-Americans and whites about the passing of Dr. Maya Angelou and concluded that, based on the number of comments, she meant no more to African-Americans than she did to whites.
What the person failed to take into account was that maybe we African-Americans were just stunned into silence. Perhaps we could not find the words to express how we felt.
I know I couldn't.
What can any writer write about one of the most gifted writers of our generation? What could any one writer say that hasn't already been said by the obituary writers, friends, family, and luminaries?
With that in mind, I wrote nothing. That is, until I summoned the courage to write this entry and share the greatest lesson Dr. Maya Angelou taught me and perhaps others.
Dr. Angelou's quote about courage being the most important virtue because, without it, you cannot practice the other virtues consistently, has been repeated a lot lately, as well as some of her other memorable lessons: "When people show you who they are, believe them the first time," and "People may forget what you said or what you did, but they will never forget how you made them feel."
However, the most important lesson I think Dr. Angelou imparted upon all of us is one that she didn't speak, but instead lived: You don't have to be just one thing in this life. You can be many things.
How often do we limit ourselves, or allow ourselves to be limited, thinking trite aphorisms like, "Jack of all trades, master of none," or walking away from something we love because we don't have the requisite 10,000 hours supposedly needed to master it?
What if Dr. Angelou had settled on being only a cable car conductor? Think of all the other gifts she possessed and bestowed upon the world -- writing, dancing, singing, acting, directing, writing music, teaching, and being a civil rights activist and friend to the likes of Malcolm X, Dr. Martin Luther King, James Baldwin AND Oprah Winfrey! And she could cook, too! Oh my, what a life! She lived many lifetimes within one lifetime. Why? Because she didn't limit herself to being just one thing.
I've always had a penchant for doing many things and, combined with being a Gemini, that has caused me to be branded as uncommitted, flighty, indecisive, and a "master of none." But Dr. Angelou was writing music and working very late in her life. She did not let her age limit her creativity and curiosity. Even at an age when, statistically speaking, she probably didn't have 10,000 hours to master one more thing, she never stopped doing the many things about which she was passionate. Her refusal to recognize limits on what she could be is the greatest lesson to me and, in my view, to the world.
So summon up the courage to do all the things that interest you, that fuel passion within you. Don't care what people think. So what if you don't master any -- you're not being graded! Dr. Angelou believed that courage is the greatest virtue because you could not practice the other virtues consistently without it. I believe that courage is the greatest virtue because you cannot be your most complete and realized self without it.
Thank you and Godspeed, Dr. Angelou. And thank you, Stanford University, my alma mater, for providing me the opportunity to meet Dr. Angelou.
Showing posts with label Oprah Winfrey. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Oprah Winfrey. Show all posts
No Experience Is Ever Wasted (Speed Dating for Book Lovers and My "Beloved" Moment)
No experienced is ever wasted.
~ Oprah Winfrey
Well, despite lots of preparation, attention to detail, and lots of publicity, no single men attended the Speed Dating for Book Lovers event I wrote about. Not. One. Available. Man.
To be honest, I was mortified. The worst had happened. Well, not the worst -- I had been having nightmares about potential damage to the African-American history quilts on display at our lovely venue, The Brickhouse Art Gallery, and that didn't happen. So the second worst thing happened. Epic. Fail.
I felt like I let the women who attended down. They were vivacious, beautiful, well put together, confident. Many of them were understanding and lauded my efforts and encouraged me to try again, maybe on a day not so loaded with expectation and meaning as Valentine's Day, maybe with more outreach to guys.
My team, which included Black Man Not Blogging, The Outraged Citizen and his lady, The Lovely SJ, as well as The Writing Diva, the Single Parent Goddess, and Brickhouse Art Gallery owner Barbara Range, immediately got to work at 5:00 pm and set up the tables and the food with oh so much care and attention to detail. The venue looked good and smelled good, too. I carefully selected the songs on four separate playlists of old school R&B ballads and jazz, which I'll include below. Black Man Not Blogging and The Outraged Citizen even dragged my dusty stereo system from the car, and Single Parent Goddess got both speakers working (she's a tech goddess, too.)
Yet. Not. One. Single. Man. Came.
After I had a little time to catch up on my sleep and put things in perspective, I asked myself, "If Oprah is right and no experience is ever wasted, what can I learn from this?" It was then when I had my aha! moment -- that this was my "Beloved" moment.
Remember the film "Beloved"? Remember how Oprah poured her heart and soul into the making of that movie, following on the heels of her success with "The Color Purple"? Remember how it didn't do well at the box office? I remember going to see it in a theater in Memphis, thinking that I wouldn't be able to get a ticket because surely in Memphis, a largely African-American city that was not too far from Oprah's birthplace (Kosciusko) and where she grew up (Nashville), this movie would be packed.
I was the only one in the theater. Even the projectionist had stepped away from the movie projector.
I remember how Oprah took that disappointment deeply and personally and how it shook her confidence in herself. It shook what she thought was her understanding of what people wanted. And it definitely made her not as eager to work in film.
Similarly, I had put my heart and soul into this event, thinking, like Oprah must have thought about "Beloved," in relation to "The Color Purple," that this speed dating event would be as successful as the last. Not so.
This was my "Beloved" moment.
Where Oprah and I part company on this same journey, however, is that I'm not going to allow this experience to shake me. I'm really sorry for the women who attended, because I hate to waste anyone's time. That said, I'm determined to learn from this and move on.
So, what did I learn from my "Beloved" moment? Here goes:
1. It's Never as Good as the First Time. Sade never lied. Just like "Beloved" was not as good as "The Color Purple," the second speed dating event was not as good as the first. And it was unrealistic to expect that it would be because, like "The Color Purple" and "Beloved," these two events were two different animals, purple tulips notwithstanding. Holding it on Valentine's Day put a lot of men off -- that day is just too laden with meaning and expectation. The first event was held on a random date that had no meaning and, therefore, no expectations.
2. I Don't Understand Men and I'm Not Willing to Learn. Although I reached out to a lot of men, especially black men, for this event, I did not know how to market to them. And, quite frankly, I don't know if I care to learn at this stage in the game. No, I'm not bitter. Here's the thing: Had I charged for this event, and even if I had sold every ticket, the profit margin would have been pretty small. I tried this event as a test to see if there was a market for it. I believe there is, but it is a market that will have to be cultivated and created, especially in Sacramento, where a lot of folks are unfamiliar with speed dating. Given the small profit margin, it's not worth it to me to learn how to market to men, especially black men, to make the event a success. What I do know how to do is to market to women and to create environments that women like, which leads to my next point:
3. The Part I Enjoyed Working on the Most Was Creating the Environment, Not Marketing the Event. When many of the women thanked me for my hard work, my response was, "I really enjoyed putting this event together." I did. I enjoyed putting together the look of the event -- the tablecloths, tulips, candles, books, even picking the songs for the playlists and putting them in just the right order. The women seemed to really like they way the event looked. That's when it hit me:
4. The Better Business Opportunity for Me Is Creating Environments That Women Like, Not Creating Events. Why? Because there's minimal business risk and a greater potential for larger profit margin for being paid for the service of making an environment look a certain way, whether its for an event or for staging a house to be sold. When you're paid for a service, as opposed to being paid when people buy tickets, you make money whether the event goes well or, in the case of houses, whether the house gets sold. It's like the difference between being Levi Strauss or a gold miner -- Levi Strauss made money on selling jeans and supplies to gold miners, whether the miners made money or not. The miners only made money when they struck gold. I'd rather be Levi Strauss.
5. Play to Your Strengths, Decide Whether to Work On Your Weaknesses. I have been told time and again that I have an eye for interior design or, as I would call it, redesign -- taking what people already have and adding to it at a low cost to create a space they like. At my old job, I "redesigned" a break room, my office, my co-worker's office, and two alcoves. It's an expensive hobby if you decide to do it as a labor of love. But one former co-worker told me she would hire me to stage her house when she decides to sell it. When people admire what you do and talk about paying you to do it, that's God's way of telling you your gift is also a business opportunity. That is my strength. My weakness is marketing to men. I've decided not to work on that weakness. My intention is to go into real estate and staging because, at the end of the day, the decision to buy a house is usually determined by a woman, not a man, even if she's not the one buying it. And I know how to market to women and create environments they like.
6. Instead of Hanging on to Your Idea of the Way Things Should Be, Make the Best of and Enjoy What Is. My second biggest regret, after wasting all those ladies' time, was not spending time talking to all of them. I was literally hanging out by the door watching and hoping for some men to come in, not unlike a child of divorce waiting impatiently to be picked up for visitation. And, like that same child, I was crushed when it didn't happen, so much so that I missed out on the opportunity to talk to and get to know all of these fabulous book-loving ladies. Luckily, some of them stayed, and they and the team -- Barbara Range, The Outraged Citizen, Single Parent Goddess, The Lovely SJ, Black Man Not Blogging, and myself, had a good ol' time discussing things we had in common -- ties to the South, growing up in LA (for at least two of them), and a whole range of topics. Quite frankly, I had a better time talking to these folks then I would have had shepherding people from one table to the other during speed dating. If I had let go earlier of my idea of what the event was supposed to be and had embraced what it could have been, I would have had a lot more fun, and so would have the ladies.
7. Tear Off The Band-Aid. The event started at 6:00, and many of the ladies were on time. I waited until 7:30 to call it off. I should have called it off sooner, but I was just unwilling to accept that it was going to fail. Black Man Not Blogging and The Outraged Citizen literally went trolling barber shops and coffee shops in search of men to bring to this event, to no avail. Finally, The Lovely SJ gently said to me, "Just tear off the Band-Aid. The faster you do it, the faster you'll get it over with." Mind you, I'm old enough to be her mother, but she was just as calm and wise as my own mother would have been. I called it off. Which leads me to my final lesson:
8. You Can Tell Who Your Real Friends Are By How They Treat You When You Fail. Barbara, Black Man Not Blogging, The Outraged Citizen, Single Parent Goddess, The Writing Diva, and The Lovely SJ -- not a one of them said anything negative about this event as it was going down in flames. Instead, they got to work behind the scenes, blowing up social media, trolling for men in barber shops and coffee shops, circulating and talking to the ladies I was too embarrassed to face, all to keep the event on life support for as long as they could. No shade was thrown, no sand pitched in my face. They knew that, with my obsessiveness and anxiety, I was at my most vulnerable, and they cocooned me in good deeds and kindness. They are my friends and family and I love them deeply for treating me as they did.
9. Heed the Need to Create. I have a creative side that I have let languish, giving it life on and off over the years. Working on this event made me realize that I NEED to create stuff, whether it's redesigning an office, putting together the look and feel of an event, or writing this blog. It's something I just need to do, whether it makes money or not. I need to create.
No experience is ever wasted. I thank the ladies who came out and I'm grateful to my team of friends and family for their support. BTW, the picture above is of the event, and that's me in the middle. And below are the playlists I promised. If you choose to download the songs from iTunes, I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoyed putting them together.
Happy Belated Valentine's Day,
BWB
Speed Dating Playlist # 1
"Blessed," The Emotions
"Portuguese Love," Teena Marie
"Wild Child," Tony!Toni!Tone!
"Holy Smokes and Gee Whiz," Tony!Toni!Tone!
"My Love Is Your Love," Whitney Houston
"You and I," George Michael
"I Apologize," Anita Baker
"Angel," Anita Baker
"Fire and Desire," Teena Marie and Rick James
"Deja Vu (I've Been Here Before)," Teena Marie
"Hollywood," Rufus feat. Chaka Khan
"Everlasting Love," Rufus feat. Chaka Khan
"For All We Know," Donny Hathaway
"A Song for You," Donny Hathaway
Speed Dating Playlist # 2 -- Double Takes
"Anyone Who Had A Heart," Dionne Warwick
"Anyone Who Had A Heart," Luther Vandross
"Stairway to Heaven," The O'Jays
"Stairway to Heaven," Pure Soul
"The Makings of You," Gladys Knight and The Pips
"The Makings of You," Aretha Franklin
"Look Into Your Heart," Aretha Franklin
"Look Into Your Heart," Whitney Houston
"Cherish The Day," Sade
"Cherish The Day," J. Spencer
"A House Is Not A Home," Dionne Warwick
"A House Is Not A Home," Luther Vandross
Speed Dating Playlist # 3
"Valentine Love," Michael Henderson
"Here We Go," Minnie Riperton
"Hope That We Can Be Together Soon," Harold Melvin & The Bluenotes
"Feels Good," Rahsaan Patterson
"Half Crazy" Musiq
"I've Got So Much To Give," Barry White
"How Do I Know I Love You," Howard Hewitt
"A Love of Your Own," Howard Hewitt
"Wildflower," Skylark
"My First Love," Avant feat. Keke Wyatt
"Natural High," Bloodstone
"Don't Let Me Be Lonely Tonight," Boney James
"A Sunday Kind of Love," Etta James
"Didn't I Blow Your Mind This Time," The Delfonics
"Maybe Tomorrow," The Jackson 5
"I"ll Be There," The Jackson 5
"You and I," Stephanie Mills
"Feel the Fire," Stephanie Mills
Speed Dating Playlist # 4
"Just To Keep You Satisfied," Howard Hewitt
"A Different Kind of Love Song," Pharez Whitted
"A Long Walk, " Jill Scott
"Inside My Love," Minnie Riperton
"This Woman's Work," Maxwell
"Mello Sumthin (The Hush)," Maxwell
"Never Keeping Secrets," Babyface
"Let's Wait A While," Janet Jackson
"Taking A Chance On Love," Gabrielle Goodman
"For The First Time In My Life," Gabrielle Goodman
"Heaven Sent," Keyshia Cole
"How Can You Mend A Broken Heart," Al Green
"Charlene," Anthony Hamilton
"Forever, For Always, For Love," Lalah Hathaway
"The Point of It All," Anthony Hamilton
If We Could Forgive George Wallace . . . . (A Conversation with Black Folks About Paula Deen)
Hi Black Folks,
Can we talk about Paula Deen? Quite frankly, the question of forgiving Paula Deen for using the N-word in the past is, IMHO, a conversation that needs to reside within the black community since that word is used to demean us and strip us of our humanity. So for all of my non-white readers, please excuse us while we black folks have a conversation about forgiving Paula Deen.
Oh, and for those of you black folks who routinely use the N-word -- rappers and the like -- you're excused from the conversation. As far as I'm concerned, you're part of the problem. I don't take a "do as I say, not as I do" attitude towards the N-word. To my mind, there is no acceptable use of the word. So, as far as I'm concerned, you have no place in this conversation, either.
Now, down to brass tacks. First, I'll admit my bias. I'm a Paula Deen fan. I like her wit, her charm, her grit, her backstory of overcoming adversity and taking her greatest talent and making something of it.
I also adore her Grandmother Paul's Sour Cream Pound Cake recipe. More on that later.
For now, the question we black folks "for true," to borrow a turn of phrase from our elders, should ask ourselves is this: If we could forgive George Wallace, can we (or why can't we) forgive Paula Deen?
Mind you, racism is racism. Governor George Wallace standing in the door of the University of Alabama stating, "Segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever," was as about as in-your-face with racism as one could get. Yet, black folks forgave him and voted him back into office. I've said it time and again -- we black folks are the most forgiving people on the planet. We have to be given that we live side-by-side with the very folks who fomented our mistreatment. George Wallace's political second act is a testament to black forgiveness.
That said, insidious racism on the down-low -- the kind Paula Deen is alleged to have practiced -- is the worst because it's shielded. It's like being attacked from an unexpected source, especially one whose image is that of home cookin' and Southern hospitality. Not white hospitality, Southern hospitality. Anyone who's ever lived in the South knows there are no more hospitable people on the planet than Southerners of any race.
We as black folks can't answer the question whether we should forgive Paula Deen until we're sure what we're forgiving her for. In her deposition, Paula Deen admitted under oath to using the N-word in the past. She did not admit to using it in the manner alleged in the racial discrimination lawsuit against her -- her description of black men who were to serve as waiters at her brother's wedding using the N-word. If indeed she did use the N-word as alleged in the lawsuit, perhaps she does not merit forgiveness because she hasn't really come to terms with her racism. For me, forgiveness isn't just about what you did, but whether you have the potential to learn from it and not do it again. Perhaps that's why black folks in Alabama forgave George Wallace -- the perception that he learned from his mistake and had the potential not to make the same mistake again.
My fervent hope is that Paula Deen isn't the racist she's portrayed to be and, if she is, she'll come clean about it, settle the lawsuit, and use this mistake as an opportunity to confront her racism and educate other whites who are racist about theirs. If she does, she will be worthy of forgiveness.
And if she is forgiven by us black folks, I hope she'll stick to cooking. I've made a lot of pound cakes in my life and tried a lot of recipes, including my owner mother's, and no pound cake I've ever tried, whether from a bakery or a home cook, comes close to Paula Deen's Grandmother Paul's Sour Cream Pound cake. I've taken that pound cake to family outings and had it literally snatched off the table along with the plate it arrived on. It's THAT good.
In a perfect world, Paula Deen would go on Oprah's Next Chapter, admit all the times she's used the N-word, get forgiven by Oprah, and OWN would pick up her cooking shows, putting Deen in the curious position of having her ass saved by a black woman -- a Southern black woman, no less.
Should black folks forgive Paula Deen? Time will tell. In the meantime, download that pound cake recipe before the Food Network takes it off their website and make one while you think about forgiving her.
Can we talk about Paula Deen? Quite frankly, the question of forgiving Paula Deen for using the N-word in the past is, IMHO, a conversation that needs to reside within the black community since that word is used to demean us and strip us of our humanity. So for all of my non-white readers, please excuse us while we black folks have a conversation about forgiving Paula Deen.
Oh, and for those of you black folks who routinely use the N-word -- rappers and the like -- you're excused from the conversation. As far as I'm concerned, you're part of the problem. I don't take a "do as I say, not as I do" attitude towards the N-word. To my mind, there is no acceptable use of the word. So, as far as I'm concerned, you have no place in this conversation, either.
Now, down to brass tacks. First, I'll admit my bias. I'm a Paula Deen fan. I like her wit, her charm, her grit, her backstory of overcoming adversity and taking her greatest talent and making something of it.
I also adore her Grandmother Paul's Sour Cream Pound Cake recipe. More on that later.
For now, the question we black folks "for true," to borrow a turn of phrase from our elders, should ask ourselves is this: If we could forgive George Wallace, can we (or why can't we) forgive Paula Deen?
Mind you, racism is racism. Governor George Wallace standing in the door of the University of Alabama stating, "Segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever," was as about as in-your-face with racism as one could get. Yet, black folks forgave him and voted him back into office. I've said it time and again -- we black folks are the most forgiving people on the planet. We have to be given that we live side-by-side with the very folks who fomented our mistreatment. George Wallace's political second act is a testament to black forgiveness.
That said, insidious racism on the down-low -- the kind Paula Deen is alleged to have practiced -- is the worst because it's shielded. It's like being attacked from an unexpected source, especially one whose image is that of home cookin' and Southern hospitality. Not white hospitality, Southern hospitality. Anyone who's ever lived in the South knows there are no more hospitable people on the planet than Southerners of any race.
We as black folks can't answer the question whether we should forgive Paula Deen until we're sure what we're forgiving her for. In her deposition, Paula Deen admitted under oath to using the N-word in the past. She did not admit to using it in the manner alleged in the racial discrimination lawsuit against her -- her description of black men who were to serve as waiters at her brother's wedding using the N-word. If indeed she did use the N-word as alleged in the lawsuit, perhaps she does not merit forgiveness because she hasn't really come to terms with her racism. For me, forgiveness isn't just about what you did, but whether you have the potential to learn from it and not do it again. Perhaps that's why black folks in Alabama forgave George Wallace -- the perception that he learned from his mistake and had the potential not to make the same mistake again.
My fervent hope is that Paula Deen isn't the racist she's portrayed to be and, if she is, she'll come clean about it, settle the lawsuit, and use this mistake as an opportunity to confront her racism and educate other whites who are racist about theirs. If she does, she will be worthy of forgiveness.
And if she is forgiven by us black folks, I hope she'll stick to cooking. I've made a lot of pound cakes in my life and tried a lot of recipes, including my owner mother's, and no pound cake I've ever tried, whether from a bakery or a home cook, comes close to Paula Deen's Grandmother Paul's Sour Cream Pound cake. I've taken that pound cake to family outings and had it literally snatched off the table along with the plate it arrived on. It's THAT good.
In a perfect world, Paula Deen would go on Oprah's Next Chapter, admit all the times she's used the N-word, get forgiven by Oprah, and OWN would pick up her cooking shows, putting Deen in the curious position of having her ass saved by a black woman -- a Southern black woman, no less.
Should black folks forgive Paula Deen? Time will tell. In the meantime, download that pound cake recipe before the Food Network takes it off their website and make one while you think about forgiving her.
"Occupy" Red Tails This Weekend
I'm getting ready to head out the door to meet Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB) and my family to see "Red Tails," the story of the African-American Tuskegee Airmen fighter pilots from World War II. People who want to send a message to Hollywood that we want more of these kind of movies need to go "occupy" Red Tails this weekend.
The movie was completely bankrolled by George Lucas because no one in Hollywood would greenlight it. Once he made it, he was told that no one in Hollywood would know how to "market" a movie like this.
To borrow from Roland Martin's commentary on "Washington Watch," "Really? When we have a black president and the biggest media star in the world, Oprah Winfrey, is black? Really?"
I call B.S. on Hollywood, and I plan on "occupying" this movie to send a message. Plus, George Lucas' girlfriend of five years is Mellody Hobson, president of Ariel Capital Management, the largest African-American-owned investment firm in the U.S. I don't doubt Ms. Hobson had her hand in getting this movie to the screen, and I intend to back her up and make sure George makes his money back.
You should, too. Besides, if you paid to see "Soul Plane" in the theater way back when, consider this your act of black entertainment atonement.
The movie was completely bankrolled by George Lucas because no one in Hollywood would greenlight it. Once he made it, he was told that no one in Hollywood would know how to "market" a movie like this.
To borrow from Roland Martin's commentary on "Washington Watch," "Really? When we have a black president and the biggest media star in the world, Oprah Winfrey, is black? Really?"
I call B.S. on Hollywood, and I plan on "occupying" this movie to send a message. Plus, George Lucas' girlfriend of five years is Mellody Hobson, president of Ariel Capital Management, the largest African-American-owned investment firm in the U.S. I don't doubt Ms. Hobson had her hand in getting this movie to the screen, and I intend to back her up and make sure George makes his money back.
You should, too. Besides, if you paid to see "Soul Plane" in the theater way back when, consider this your act of black entertainment atonement.
We Are Who We Came From
Oprah Winfrey didn't find out that she had another sister until she was well into her fifties. Why? Probably because her mother didn't want to tell her because she felt shame, guilt, or both. Think of how much time they missed out on. Oprah's mother and some of my older relatives are of the same generation, and I'd like to share a little something with them:
Get over yourselves, for your children's sake.
I have a relative who is tight-lipped about family history because of some deeply held need to protect and preserve the memory of a relative long departed, a relative that the members of my generation would be presumed to pass judgment on if our true family history were laid bare. That unwillingness to talk about family history makes it difficult, if not almost impossible, to do genealogical research to find out about an entire branch of my family. That entire branch is lost to me because older family members think that by holding back family history, they are preserving family secrets.
Let it go, for goodness' sake.
For starters, much of our current family history can be laid bare by a simple resort to second-grade math. It doesn't take a Stanford engineer to do the math and figure out that most of our parents weren't walking leisurely down the marriage aisle, but running down the aisle racing a fetus' entry into the world. (All those Reno weddings in the '50's kinda gave it away, folks.) But guess what? We don't care.
Because my parents' generation was rather, well, prolific, I have had at any point over 50 first cousins. And guess what, elders? We talk. We talk about all we heard as children from your family discussions in hushed tones when you thought we weren't listening, or the stuff you blurted out when you were drunk. We remember. And we talk. But guess what? We don't care.
Why? One, because we're in no position to judge, and two, because we just want to know who we came from.
I'm on the tail end of the Baby Boom. My generation embraced casual sex, hip-hop, rampant consumerism (designer jeans, anyone?) and drugs. We are the parents of the first generation of crack babies. The only war we fought was the War on Drugs, and we lost that one. Willingly.
Think about it -- are we really in any position to judge our parents and their parents, who came through Jim Crow, two World Wars, and the Civil Rights Movement, albeit somewhat scarred? I don't think so. When we think of what my parents' generation and their forebears survived, we're sitting in awe, not in judgment. That African Americans were able to preserve even some semblance of family after slavery is a testament to our resilience. Unlike my parents' generation, which is the "Don't air your dirty laundry" generation, my generation is the "I don't judge" generation. And we don't.
So when you hold back on family history because you think we'll judge you or our ancestors, you're wrong. We just want to know who we come from. We are who we came from, and if we don't know who we came from, we don't really know ourselves. If you've ever done genealogical research on African American families, you know how hard it is -- names were blithely misspelled in census records, many African Americans didn't know when they were born, families were torn asunder and stitched back together in ways not always recognizable to census takers, many of whom I assume to have been white during the 1800's. In order to know who we came from, we need clues, anything -- locations, dates, military service. Anything.
Furthermore, we have a right to know who we came from. And if you brought us into the world, you have an obligation to tell us. When you withhold family history, you withhold identity, our identity. That is no one's right, not even yours.
So, to Oprah's mom and older members of my family, you do your progeny a disservice when you don't discuss family history, no matter how tawdry or shameful you think it might be. Clearly none of you have spent much time on Facebook lately.
Please. Start talking. Before it's too late.
Get over yourselves, for your children's sake.
I have a relative who is tight-lipped about family history because of some deeply held need to protect and preserve the memory of a relative long departed, a relative that the members of my generation would be presumed to pass judgment on if our true family history were laid bare. That unwillingness to talk about family history makes it difficult, if not almost impossible, to do genealogical research to find out about an entire branch of my family. That entire branch is lost to me because older family members think that by holding back family history, they are preserving family secrets.
Let it go, for goodness' sake.
For starters, much of our current family history can be laid bare by a simple resort to second-grade math. It doesn't take a Stanford engineer to do the math and figure out that most of our parents weren't walking leisurely down the marriage aisle, but running down the aisle racing a fetus' entry into the world. (All those Reno weddings in the '50's kinda gave it away, folks.) But guess what? We don't care.
Because my parents' generation was rather, well, prolific, I have had at any point over 50 first cousins. And guess what, elders? We talk. We talk about all we heard as children from your family discussions in hushed tones when you thought we weren't listening, or the stuff you blurted out when you were drunk. We remember. And we talk. But guess what? We don't care.
Why? One, because we're in no position to judge, and two, because we just want to know who we came from.
I'm on the tail end of the Baby Boom. My generation embraced casual sex, hip-hop, rampant consumerism (designer jeans, anyone?) and drugs. We are the parents of the first generation of crack babies. The only war we fought was the War on Drugs, and we lost that one. Willingly.
Think about it -- are we really in any position to judge our parents and their parents, who came through Jim Crow, two World Wars, and the Civil Rights Movement, albeit somewhat scarred? I don't think so. When we think of what my parents' generation and their forebears survived, we're sitting in awe, not in judgment. That African Americans were able to preserve even some semblance of family after slavery is a testament to our resilience. Unlike my parents' generation, which is the "Don't air your dirty laundry" generation, my generation is the "I don't judge" generation. And we don't.
So when you hold back on family history because you think we'll judge you or our ancestors, you're wrong. We just want to know who we come from. We are who we came from, and if we don't know who we came from, we don't really know ourselves. If you've ever done genealogical research on African American families, you know how hard it is -- names were blithely misspelled in census records, many African Americans didn't know when they were born, families were torn asunder and stitched back together in ways not always recognizable to census takers, many of whom I assume to have been white during the 1800's. In order to know who we came from, we need clues, anything -- locations, dates, military service. Anything.
Furthermore, we have a right to know who we came from. And if you brought us into the world, you have an obligation to tell us. When you withhold family history, you withhold identity, our identity. That is no one's right, not even yours.
So, to Oprah's mom and older members of my family, you do your progeny a disservice when you don't discuss family history, no matter how tawdry or shameful you think it might be. Clearly none of you have spent much time on Facebook lately.
Please. Start talking. Before it's too late.
Having An Oprah Gail Moment, Or Outgrowing Your Circle
"Don't you ever want more?"
- "My Love," Jill Scott
If Oprah never does another thing that's meaningful in my life, her Master Class show would be enough. I watched both of her own episodes of Master Class, and two things struck me. One was the moment during her childhood when Oprah's grandmother told Oprah while washing clothes for whites and hanging them to dry something to the effect of, "Now, Oprah Gail, you pay attention to what I'm doing because someday you're going to have to do this." Oprah said that something in her soul just rebelled, and deep inside she knew, "That would not be my fate."
The second thing that struck me was Oprah's response to a conversation with her boss at a Baltimore television station when she decided to go to Chicago and do a talk show -- a talk show that would eventually become The Oprah Winfrey Show. Her boss told her she would get slaughtered, that there was no way she could hope to compete with Phil Donahue, in his own backyard, no less. She listened and acknowledged to herself that he was right, but she said to herself that even if she couldn't beat Phil, she knew that if she stayed in Baltimore, she wouldn't grow.
I call Oprah's childhood conversation with her grandmother an "Oprah Gail" moment: When someone, with the best of intentions, can't imagine a fate for you greater than what you have or what they have. Even worse -- when they can't imagine a fate for you that is commensurate with your abilities.
I've been having some Oprah Gail moments as of late, with people I know assuming that I aspire to little more than what I have or -- even worse -- that I shouldn't aspire to more. When I jokingly said to a friend that I wouldn't take a position because the employer couldn't afford to pay me the salary I'm worth, a reasonable one given my experience, the friend replied, "You don't need to make that much money." But what really gets me is that people can't imagine that I would want to do anything other than what I'm doing. It's all I can do not to shake them and say, "Given my abilities, can't you even imagine that I might want more than this?" Imagine in a way that, because of time and circumstance, Oprah's grandmother couldn't?
The second part of Oprah's Master Class that struck me, the inability to grow in one's current position, is something we don't always think about. It's easy as we grow older and risk averse to become the intellectual and spiritual equivalent of being pot bound and, like a pot bound plant, in need of a transplant to grow. My husband's pastor calls it "outgrowing your circle," and this can happen at work or in any organization you're involved in.
How do you know if you've outgrown your circle? Ask yourself:
Are you considered the go-to person in your group?
Are you expected to catch the errors of your peers because you're held to a higher performance standard than your peers?
Are you the one person who consistently brings a new perspective to problems?
Do you teach more than you learn?
When you make an error, is the error so complex that only you could catch it, but you get derided by people who can't even comprehend the error you made?
Do you have better judgment than your peers?
Do you bring more to your position than what's in your job description? For example, can you balance the books as an accounting clerk AND write a killer press release?
Are you accused of being arrogant because, more often than not, you're right and you won't back down about it?
Have you stopped speaking up because you know that, if you do, you'll have to explain, too, and you don't have the patience to teach?
Is there a mismatch between your position and your passion?
Do you bristle at being talked down to by someone in your group who outranks you and whom you consider to be less intelligent than yourself?
I have a lot of interests and, thank God, I'm still curious. I imagine far greater for myself in addition to what I have now or what others would have for me. I'm not done growing, nor do I hope to ever be.
To borrow from a Dos Equis commercial, "Stay curious, my friends."
- "My Love," Jill Scott
If Oprah never does another thing that's meaningful in my life, her Master Class show would be enough. I watched both of her own episodes of Master Class, and two things struck me. One was the moment during her childhood when Oprah's grandmother told Oprah while washing clothes for whites and hanging them to dry something to the effect of, "Now, Oprah Gail, you pay attention to what I'm doing because someday you're going to have to do this." Oprah said that something in her soul just rebelled, and deep inside she knew, "That would not be my fate."
The second thing that struck me was Oprah's response to a conversation with her boss at a Baltimore television station when she decided to go to Chicago and do a talk show -- a talk show that would eventually become The Oprah Winfrey Show. Her boss told her she would get slaughtered, that there was no way she could hope to compete with Phil Donahue, in his own backyard, no less. She listened and acknowledged to herself that he was right, but she said to herself that even if she couldn't beat Phil, she knew that if she stayed in Baltimore, she wouldn't grow.
I call Oprah's childhood conversation with her grandmother an "Oprah Gail" moment: When someone, with the best of intentions, can't imagine a fate for you greater than what you have or what they have. Even worse -- when they can't imagine a fate for you that is commensurate with your abilities.
I've been having some Oprah Gail moments as of late, with people I know assuming that I aspire to little more than what I have or -- even worse -- that I shouldn't aspire to more. When I jokingly said to a friend that I wouldn't take a position because the employer couldn't afford to pay me the salary I'm worth, a reasonable one given my experience, the friend replied, "You don't need to make that much money." But what really gets me is that people can't imagine that I would want to do anything other than what I'm doing. It's all I can do not to shake them and say, "Given my abilities, can't you even imagine that I might want more than this?" Imagine in a way that, because of time and circumstance, Oprah's grandmother couldn't?
The second part of Oprah's Master Class that struck me, the inability to grow in one's current position, is something we don't always think about. It's easy as we grow older and risk averse to become the intellectual and spiritual equivalent of being pot bound and, like a pot bound plant, in need of a transplant to grow. My husband's pastor calls it "outgrowing your circle," and this can happen at work or in any organization you're involved in.
How do you know if you've outgrown your circle? Ask yourself:
Are you considered the go-to person in your group?
Are you expected to catch the errors of your peers because you're held to a higher performance standard than your peers?
Are you the one person who consistently brings a new perspective to problems?
Do you teach more than you learn?
When you make an error, is the error so complex that only you could catch it, but you get derided by people who can't even comprehend the error you made?
Do you have better judgment than your peers?
Do you bring more to your position than what's in your job description? For example, can you balance the books as an accounting clerk AND write a killer press release?
Are you accused of being arrogant because, more often than not, you're right and you won't back down about it?
Have you stopped speaking up because you know that, if you do, you'll have to explain, too, and you don't have the patience to teach?
Is there a mismatch between your position and your passion?
Do you bristle at being talked down to by someone in your group who outranks you and whom you consider to be less intelligent than yourself?
I have a lot of interests and, thank God, I'm still curious. I imagine far greater for myself in addition to what I have now or what others would have for me. I'm not done growing, nor do I hope to ever be.
To borrow from a Dos Equis commercial, "Stay curious, my friends."
Mad Love to You, Iyanla!
I don't know of many single black women who didn't read Iyanla Vanzant's books during the '90's. I think I have about every book she wrote, but I can't find all of them since I've moved about eight times since then. She taught us single black women that we didn't have to put up with no mess, that if we "saw crazy coming, cross the street," and that we were complete, whole and perfect in our singleness. She made us believe, each and every one of us, that "I'ma BE alright."
Needless to say, I was so sad to hear of all that she's gone through, which she's revealed in her latest tome, "Peace From Broken Pieces." I was absolutely glued to the TV screen watching her second interview with Oprah in which she described the loss of her marriage, her daughter, and her entire fortune. Like many of us in this new age, she's renting, living a simpler life, and she's at peace. Even in exposing the darkness through which she had to plow to get to where she is, she still remains a study in resilience. "I put my baby in the ground. I can do anything," she said. Indeed.
I was over the moon to see that her book is #1 on Amazon.com. Even more, I'm hoping that this woman who gave so much not just to black women, but to all women, will have all that love and good fortune directed back at her. I fully intend to buy her book because I know the royalties for this one, unlike her previous books, will indeed go to her. I appreciate that Tavis Smiley not only encouraged her to tell her story, but published it through his imprint, Smiley Books.
I firmly believe that one's testimony not only saves themselves but can save others. Ms. Vanzant has been to hell and back, and her testimony is that even if we end up experiencing the same, there is always a way back. Always.
Mad love to you, Iyanla!
Needless to say, I was so sad to hear of all that she's gone through, which she's revealed in her latest tome, "Peace From Broken Pieces." I was absolutely glued to the TV screen watching her second interview with Oprah in which she described the loss of her marriage, her daughter, and her entire fortune. Like many of us in this new age, she's renting, living a simpler life, and she's at peace. Even in exposing the darkness through which she had to plow to get to where she is, she still remains a study in resilience. "I put my baby in the ground. I can do anything," she said. Indeed.
I was over the moon to see that her book is #1 on Amazon.com. Even more, I'm hoping that this woman who gave so much not just to black women, but to all women, will have all that love and good fortune directed back at her. I fully intend to buy her book because I know the royalties for this one, unlike her previous books, will indeed go to her. I appreciate that Tavis Smiley not only encouraged her to tell her story, but published it through his imprint, Smiley Books.
I firmly believe that one's testimony not only saves themselves but can save others. Ms. Vanzant has been to hell and back, and her testimony is that even if we end up experiencing the same, there is always a way back. Always.
Mad love to you, Iyanla!
Get Your Own: Own Some OWN
On January 1, 2011, the Oprah Winfrey Network (OWN) will launch on what was formerly the Discovery Health Channel. If you're like me, you've been a loyal viewer of the Oprah Show and have probably, time permitting, also watched Dr. Phil, Dr. Oz, Nate Berkus and Rachael Ray as regularly as possible. You've probably purchased books chosen as Oprah Book Club selections.
I don't mean to sound selfish, but what have you gotten in exchange for all your Oprah loyalty? It's not like you could buy stock in Harpo, Inc.
But you CAN buy stock in Discovery Communications, Inc., which will own OWN 50-50 with Harpo, Inc.
That's right, it's time for you to benefit from all your years of Oprah loyalty. Own some OWN.
Although Discovery Communications, Inc. has issued various series of stock the differences between which I have yet to discern, I'm seriously considering owning some OWN, or rather, Discovery Communications, Inc., in my 401K. Sure, it's a bet that Oprah is as much of a programming genius as she is a talk show goddess, but I think it's a pretty safe one given the success of the shows she's produced. It's not like I'm going to sink my entire fund into Discovery Communications stock.
Now it's time for you to get YOUR ownership on. Consider purchasing an ownership interest in OWN.
Happy New Year!
I don't mean to sound selfish, but what have you gotten in exchange for all your Oprah loyalty? It's not like you could buy stock in Harpo, Inc.
But you CAN buy stock in Discovery Communications, Inc., which will own OWN 50-50 with Harpo, Inc.
That's right, it's time for you to benefit from all your years of Oprah loyalty. Own some OWN.
Although Discovery Communications, Inc. has issued various series of stock the differences between which I have yet to discern, I'm seriously considering owning some OWN, or rather, Discovery Communications, Inc., in my 401K. Sure, it's a bet that Oprah is as much of a programming genius as she is a talk show goddess, but I think it's a pretty safe one given the success of the shows she's produced. It's not like I'm going to sink my entire fund into Discovery Communications stock.
Now it's time for you to get YOUR ownership on. Consider purchasing an ownership interest in OWN.
Happy New Year!
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