For the record, I respect Mormon missionaries. Any young person who would give up one-and-one-half to two years of his or her young life to go door-to-door and share his or her faith and testimony gets my respect. I can’t think of much else that is more laudable. I may not agree with the Mormon church's stance on political issues, but I respect that young people of their faith go on missions.
For the record, I tend to attract certain types of people and things: Dogs (the four-legged canine kind and, when I was single, the two-legged pretty boy non-monogamous kind); elderly people on public transit (don’t know why, but they sit next to me and tell me their life stories); children (if you don’t want me to know what’s going on in your household, don’t tell your children because if they’re around me, they’re probably going to spill their guts to me; again, don’t know why, but they just do), and Mormon missionaries.
In light of these facts, I invited two young Mormon missionaries into my living room last Saturday to listen to them share their testimony and speak of their faith. Because they are young women and pretty conspicuous in their conservative dress and name tags, I tend to feel protective of them just because I would want someone looking out for my daughters if they were going door-to-door -- that is, if I had daughters. I can’t help it. Regardless, I’m the kind of person who will stop and take time to listen to just about anyone (or any canine, for that matter) trying to communicate with me. I can’t help it.
In sharing their testimony and faith, they asked me to read some scripture from the Book of Mormon (I already own a copy, a gift from a friend who is Mormon) and pray as to whether the idea of Joseph Smith as a prophet was true to me. They also informed me that Mormons believe that not only has Jesus Christ returned on occasion since the Resurrection and Ascension, but that he has come to the United States.
That’s where they lost me.
I asked BMNB, who is a Baptist (National Baptist, not Southern Baptist – he’s asked me to make that clear to anyone I speak to about his denomination), whether Baptists believe it is possible that Joseph Smith is a prophet and the Book of Mormon his testimony.
“Uh, no.”
I asked him whether Baptists believe that Jesus Christ has returned since the Resurrection and Ascension and, in particular, to the U.S.
“No.”
And then it made sense to me: If Jesus Christ had returned to the United States, black folks would have known about it.
Black folks in America are, in my opinion, the most Jesus-loving people on the planet. It is that love of Christ that kept us –well, most of us -- from armed insurrection and outright violence during slavery and the Civil Rights Movement, if you ask me. I read a statistic that said that African Americans have the highest rates of regular church attendance in the United States – about 70 percent – as compared to a just over 50 percent rate for whites. This might explain why most black folks are profoundly unimpressed with Taylor Swift. On any given Sunday in any black Baptist, Pentecostal, COGIC or AME church in this country, there’s some 15 year-old who is singing a solo and raising the roof in a song of praise to rival the likes of Whitney, Mariah, and the Clark Sisters combined. Nobody sings a song of praise like black folks, in my opinion. And yet, we are a people who can write and sing a most salacious and misogynistic rap song, win a Grammy for it, and then give “all honor and glory to Jesus Christ” for winning the Grammy without a hint of irony. That is how ingrained the love of Christ is in most of our lives.
So, if Jesus Christ had returned to the United States, black folks would have known about it. If He had returned during slavery when most of us were illiterate, we would have composed a song about it and handed it down through the generations. If He had come back in more contemporary times, Langston Hughes would have written a poem about it, August Wilson AND Tyler Perry would have written a play about it, Smokey Robinson would have written a song about it, the Five Blind Boys of Alabama would have sung about it, and Stevie Wonder would have lead a movement to make the date of His return a national holiday. African Americans spend too disproportionate an amount of time in praise and worship of Jesus Christ to have been overlooked upon His return to the United States. This I cannot believe. Mind you, He would have been overwhelmed by us, what with folks wanting to praise him interminably (“Jesus, I just have to thank you for getting me up today and making sure my car started and getting me to work and making sure I had a job to go to and . . . . ) and, for those “problem children” among us, wanting to ask him for stupid stuff (“Jesus, do you think you could let a brother hold $20 until next Tuesday? You know I’ll pay you back. Well, actually, it’s all yours anyway, but you understand what a brother’s tryin’ to say . . .”), but He would not have ignored us. This I cannot believe.
And stories of our encounters with Jesus would have been handed down through the generations. Families with members who had encountered Jesus would have been revered. I could go on and on. But I just can’t wrap my brain around the concept that Jesus would have come to the United States and not said “boo” to black folks. This I cannot believe.
Now, I just have to find a way to tell those nice Mormon missionary young women next week . . . .
Showing posts with label Taylor Swift. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Taylor Swift. Show all posts
Taylor, Welcome to Serena's World
I’m not even going to try to defend it: What Kanye West said to Taylor Swift was wrong, just plain ol’ wrong, wrong as two left shoes. I doubt he would have behaved in the same manner toward any similar up-and-coming black female singer like Ciara or Jazmine Sullivan. I am of the humble opinion that race had something to do with it. Maybe you disagree. Had he tried the same mess with Alicia Keys, though, I bet she would have beat him with a Moon Man like he had stolen something. New Yorkers roll hard. I don’t mess with them.
In my humble opinion, Kanye’s use of Beyonce’s excellence to throw shade on Taylor Swift’s accomplishment is an all-too-common act: Someone diminishing or stealing your achievement because of your race. This type of behavior plays itself out on playgrounds, in classrooms, conference rooms, cubicles and cafeterias, on ball fields and on assembly lines all across America. That said, what Taylor Swift experienced was not any more wrong merely because she experienced it. This time, the shoe was on the other foot. But it was still the wrong shoe no matter what.
In other words: Taylor Swift, welcome to Serena Williams’ world.
I don’t think Serena Williams’ outburst was acceptable either, but was far more understandable than Kanye’s. The tennis world has been less than welcoming and accepting of the Williams sisters, and Lord knows they have endured far more than they’ve responded to or retaliated against. They’ve had their victories reduced to nothing more than the product of brute-like mannish strength, a parallel I’ve yet to see be drawn to white women in tennis, instead of a mixture of power, finesse, and strategy that they represent. Even John McEnroe has had the gall to criticize their behavior despite the fact that his misbehavior, although also criticized at the time, earned him the somewhat-adoring moniker, “Bad Boy of Tennis.” The sisters have been unfairly criticized as looking less than feminine, and I’ve recently seen comments on the internet calling them “monkeys.” Now, I remember when Serena rocked that black catsuit at the U.S. Open, it elicited the collective “Dayum!” heard from brothers ‘round the world. Even my brother, who is old enough to be Serena’s father, remarked that Serena “wasn’t no little girl anymore,” and he was particularly happy that she wasn’t HIS little girl, if you get my drift. Black folks’ definition of feminine does not exclude dark, large, shapely, or muscular. But I digress.
The world of tennis has had a hard time accepting that the Williams sisters are that good just because, well, they’re that good and they’re black. If they could find a way to Williams-proof the game of tennis the way the PGA has started Tiger-proofing golf courses, I’m sure they would. And, by the way, what’s up with that? I don’t recall the PGA “Golden Bear-proofing” or “Shark-proofing” golf courses before Tiger’s ascent to the top of the game. But for the fact that the NBA is over 70% black, they might have tried to Jordan-proof basketball, although I don’t think they could have given that Jordan could dunk from half-court. And look good doing it, I might add.
Well, as my parents, and many black parents, would put it, “Black folks cain’t have shit.” Now I know I’m not the only one with black parents who grew up hearing this turn of phrase. “Black folks cain’t have shit” refers to the idea that when we succeed, our successes are diminished, denied, or straight-out taken from us for no reason other than race. Now, if you grew up like I did with black parents who came up during the Great Depression, that phrase was usually followed by a litany of black achievements diminished or stolen by white folks: jazz, my grandfather’s property, credit for discovering the North Pole, rock and roll, Jackie Robinson from the Negro Leagues, the ironing board, the light bulb, you name it. I would hear that phrase, but I never thought it applied to me until I hit high school.
I was accepted to Stanford University in the spring of my senior year. I was particularly proud because I knew that Stanford was hard to get into. To my knowledge, I was the only student from my high school who had been accepted to Stanford that year, or in many years, for that matter. As word got out, many of my classmates came up to congratulate me, even one of our six valedictorians. As we sat down for lunch in the cafeteria, this valedictorian, a white girl, let me know what one of the other valedictorians, also a white girl, said about my achievement: “You only got in because you’re black.”
I was floored. This was from someone I actually liked, even though we weren’t close. This hater valedictorian, for lack of a better term, had a father who was a Stanford alum, and I think she assumed she had a lock on being admitted. I didn’t even see it coming. I had that, well, Taylor Swift look on my face. I couldn’t understand what instigated this animus. Everybody knew my record – I had already received a full ride to U.C. Berkeley and would later be admitted to the University of Chicago and Harvard, was ranked 11th in my class of over 300 students with a 3.89 GPA and straight A’s my junior year, had been student body president, played in the orchestra, band, and the all-city orchestra, had won numerous awards for my writing and academics, had scholarships up the yang, interned with the California State Assembly . . . .
And at the end of it all, the unexpected words of one very jealous white girl reduced all my achievements to nothing more than my race. Nothing but my race. It’s a good thing I had parents who told me otherwise, who lifted me up and told me that I had worked hard and earned all that I had achieved and deserved it.
Black folks cain’t have shit.
I know how Taylor Swift felt. I know how Serena Williams probably feels all the time. I know how that Rutgers Women’s Basketball Team felt after being called “nappy headed hos.” To have your accomplishments diminished or denied because of race is patently unfair, but it’s not any more unfair when it happens to pretty blond white girls.
I would imagine that, with each botched and unfair call, Serena Williams probably thought to herself, “I may lose this match on my own, but I’m damn sure not going to let you steal it from me. Not this time.”
Because black folks can have shit. And white folks can, too.
Oh, and memo to President Obama: The only friend you have in the media is Oprah. There is no “off the record” for you. You don’t have to comment on everything involving black people, even if asked. Lord knows, if President Bush had commented on everything involving white folks, he would have exhausted his limited vocabulary (“deciders,” anyone?). Some comments are best left expressed in the barber shop, if you know what I mean.
In my humble opinion, Kanye’s use of Beyonce’s excellence to throw shade on Taylor Swift’s accomplishment is an all-too-common act: Someone diminishing or stealing your achievement because of your race. This type of behavior plays itself out on playgrounds, in classrooms, conference rooms, cubicles and cafeterias, on ball fields and on assembly lines all across America. That said, what Taylor Swift experienced was not any more wrong merely because she experienced it. This time, the shoe was on the other foot. But it was still the wrong shoe no matter what.
In other words: Taylor Swift, welcome to Serena Williams’ world.
I don’t think Serena Williams’ outburst was acceptable either, but was far more understandable than Kanye’s. The tennis world has been less than welcoming and accepting of the Williams sisters, and Lord knows they have endured far more than they’ve responded to or retaliated against. They’ve had their victories reduced to nothing more than the product of brute-like mannish strength, a parallel I’ve yet to see be drawn to white women in tennis, instead of a mixture of power, finesse, and strategy that they represent. Even John McEnroe has had the gall to criticize their behavior despite the fact that his misbehavior, although also criticized at the time, earned him the somewhat-adoring moniker, “Bad Boy of Tennis.” The sisters have been unfairly criticized as looking less than feminine, and I’ve recently seen comments on the internet calling them “monkeys.” Now, I remember when Serena rocked that black catsuit at the U.S. Open, it elicited the collective “Dayum!” heard from brothers ‘round the world. Even my brother, who is old enough to be Serena’s father, remarked that Serena “wasn’t no little girl anymore,” and he was particularly happy that she wasn’t HIS little girl, if you get my drift. Black folks’ definition of feminine does not exclude dark, large, shapely, or muscular. But I digress.
The world of tennis has had a hard time accepting that the Williams sisters are that good just because, well, they’re that good and they’re black. If they could find a way to Williams-proof the game of tennis the way the PGA has started Tiger-proofing golf courses, I’m sure they would. And, by the way, what’s up with that? I don’t recall the PGA “Golden Bear-proofing” or “Shark-proofing” golf courses before Tiger’s ascent to the top of the game. But for the fact that the NBA is over 70% black, they might have tried to Jordan-proof basketball, although I don’t think they could have given that Jordan could dunk from half-court. And look good doing it, I might add.
Well, as my parents, and many black parents, would put it, “Black folks cain’t have shit.” Now I know I’m not the only one with black parents who grew up hearing this turn of phrase. “Black folks cain’t have shit” refers to the idea that when we succeed, our successes are diminished, denied, or straight-out taken from us for no reason other than race. Now, if you grew up like I did with black parents who came up during the Great Depression, that phrase was usually followed by a litany of black achievements diminished or stolen by white folks: jazz, my grandfather’s property, credit for discovering the North Pole, rock and roll, Jackie Robinson from the Negro Leagues, the ironing board, the light bulb, you name it. I would hear that phrase, but I never thought it applied to me until I hit high school.
I was accepted to Stanford University in the spring of my senior year. I was particularly proud because I knew that Stanford was hard to get into. To my knowledge, I was the only student from my high school who had been accepted to Stanford that year, or in many years, for that matter. As word got out, many of my classmates came up to congratulate me, even one of our six valedictorians. As we sat down for lunch in the cafeteria, this valedictorian, a white girl, let me know what one of the other valedictorians, also a white girl, said about my achievement: “You only got in because you’re black.”
I was floored. This was from someone I actually liked, even though we weren’t close. This hater valedictorian, for lack of a better term, had a father who was a Stanford alum, and I think she assumed she had a lock on being admitted. I didn’t even see it coming. I had that, well, Taylor Swift look on my face. I couldn’t understand what instigated this animus. Everybody knew my record – I had already received a full ride to U.C. Berkeley and would later be admitted to the University of Chicago and Harvard, was ranked 11th in my class of over 300 students with a 3.89 GPA and straight A’s my junior year, had been student body president, played in the orchestra, band, and the all-city orchestra, had won numerous awards for my writing and academics, had scholarships up the yang, interned with the California State Assembly . . . .
And at the end of it all, the unexpected words of one very jealous white girl reduced all my achievements to nothing more than my race. Nothing but my race. It’s a good thing I had parents who told me otherwise, who lifted me up and told me that I had worked hard and earned all that I had achieved and deserved it.
Black folks cain’t have shit.
I know how Taylor Swift felt. I know how Serena Williams probably feels all the time. I know how that Rutgers Women’s Basketball Team felt after being called “nappy headed hos.” To have your accomplishments diminished or denied because of race is patently unfair, but it’s not any more unfair when it happens to pretty blond white girls.
I would imagine that, with each botched and unfair call, Serena Williams probably thought to herself, “I may lose this match on my own, but I’m damn sure not going to let you steal it from me. Not this time.”
Because black folks can have shit. And white folks can, too.
Oh, and memo to President Obama: The only friend you have in the media is Oprah. There is no “off the record” for you. You don’t have to comment on everything involving black people, even if asked. Lord knows, if President Bush had commented on everything involving white folks, he would have exhausted his limited vocabulary (“deciders,” anyone?). Some comments are best left expressed in the barber shop, if you know what I mean.
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