It's not the brown one, is it?

I tried and tried to let it go.  Really, I did.  Then I thought: Why?  Why let it go?

After school yesterday, the girls and I got stuck in a long line on the sidewalk. There was a man in front of us walking with a third or fourth grade boy.  The boy was talking about his new "girlfriend".  The GROWN MAN said "It isn't the brown one, is it?".  The boy said, "no".  The GROWN MAN said "Good, cuz that's gross."

GROWN MAN to little boy.

In front of my two little girls and countless other little open minds.

What should I have done in that situation?  I couldn't do what I wanted to because I was holding hands with my Kindergartner.  I couldn't say all the things that were rushing to my mouth because I was surrounded by children.  And, I couldn't just do nothing because I was holding hands with my Kindergartner and surrounded by children.

In our tiny town, I would guess that it's approximately 95% Caucasian.  In the elementary school,there are maybe 20 kids of color.  So, there's a 10% chance this GROWN MAN was referring to one of my two children.  (If so, I assure him that there's a 0% chance his son has a chance in hell of getting one of mine to be his girlfriend.)  But it's not about my girls, it's about that little boy.  The kid who is growing up in a house that still believes that you can judge someone based on the small facets of themselves that they can't control.

Their skin tone.
The number of chromosomes they were born with.
The sexuality they grow into.
The country their parents were born in.

That little boy is being abused.  He's being verbally and emotionally beaten every time that GROWN MAN opens his mouth.

Judging people isn't all bad, but let's do it the new-fashioned way.  Let's do it based on every single thing they can control.

Their stupidity.
Their small minded-ness (and you know what they say about a man with a small mind...).
Their limited vocabulary (brown... really?).
Their complete lack of parenting skills.
And, their incessant need to wear camouflage every single place they go (hey, we can see you in the Wal-Mart checkout lane).

May that boy grow up to be a GROWN MAN better than the one he was shown.

Dear Eva,

On your ninth birthday, I want you to know that you are everything anyone has ever wanted to be.  Right now, today, at this moment, you are perfection.

You are smart.
You are kind.
You are funny.
You are beautiful.
You are good.
You are important.
You are honest.
You are thoughtful.
You are caring.
You are full of life.
You are bounce-off-the-walls-energetic.
You are introspective.
You are generous.
You are soft-hearted.
You are strong.
You are awe inspiring.

 

You are the kind of person people strive their whole lives to be.

 

And,  you are all of that today.

 

So, stay exactly the way you are.  Don't let anyone steal your shine.  There is no one more perfect than you. 

 

And, there is no one more grateful to have been given the honor of watching you grow than me.

 

 

Always,

 

Mama

Doubt

It's in the few inches I have to reach through to hold your hand.

It's in the seconds it takes to lean into your kiss.

It's in the breath I hold before I speak.

It's in the moment before I open your last text.

It's in the hesitation of my step to keep up with your stride.

It's in the knots in my stomach before you open the door.

It's in the extra beats of my heart at the sound of your laugh.

It's in the ink of the pen I can't bring myself to use.

It's in the sound of our silence.

It's in the space that doesn't hurt anymore.

It's in the feel of your eyelashes brushing my face.

It's in the freedom you've given me.

It's in the restraint I've mastered.

It's in the places you'll never touch.


And that's where it will always stay.

Middle ground

It's taken me so long to learn the difference.  That, just because I don't deserve the fairytale, doesn't mean I deserve to be dragged through the dirt.

I'm not a perfect person.  Most of the time, I'm barely even a good person.  I make mistakes more than I make smiles.  I overthink and look at things too deeply.  I demand words when they're not essential.  I refuse to be ignored.  I challenge and question more than I should.  I don't trust anyone or anything.  I have a real problem waiting for things to play out on their own time.  I worry more than I should about things that don't matter.  I put too much emphasis on the things I shouldn't notice at all.  My eyes refuse to be blinded.  I hold on too long to the things that tear me apart.  I roll my eyes and slam doors and yell more than anyone should.

No, I don't deserve flowers and candy.  I haven't earned any compliments or praise.  I've lived a long time doing all the wrong things, and I've paid the price for it many times over.

I always knew I didn't deserve the prince on the white horse.  Unfortunately, I thought that meant I actually deserved the toads that brought me down to their mud. 

I accepted the nothing I was offered.  Take it or leave it has always ended in me taking it - gratefully.  I just couldn't see that there has to be a middle ground.

But, I am not all bad.  I will happily make an ass out of myself to make someone laugh.  I stay up all night thinking of how to make a bad situation better.  I will stand in someone's corner cheering them on long after the lights are turned off.  I say what I mean every time.  I am faithful and honest.  I listen to words, whispers, and thoughts.  I learn everything there is to know that will make eyes shine.  I forgive.  I care.  I don't give up.  Middle of the night or center of of the storm, I am always there.

So, maybe I don't deserve to be demeaned and disrespected.  Maybe there's more for me than being ignored and dismissed.  Maybe I don't deserve the fairytale, but that doesn't mean I have to be covered in dirt.

I just wish it didn't take me so long to figure it out.

90's Hip Hop

My 90's HipHop Station on Pandora should just be renamed the "Close calls, big mistakes, beautiful stupid boys, running the streets, can't believe I made it out unscathed, race down memory lane" soundtrack.

Naughty by Nature brings back the first boy I ever completely lost all my senses for.  He was beautiful and remarkably stupid.  I wore his shirt for weeks and can't hear Hip Hop Hooray without being back on my couch in that apartment with his smile.

Lost Boyz brings back the little family of boys that adopted me into their crew.  We went everywhere together blasting the tiny speakers in my little car with Legal Drug Money until we wore the tape out.  Those were the first days I ever felt accepted for who I was, even if all I was at the time was young & stupid.

Outkast brings back the best friend I've ever had.  He used to let me drive his car up to get us food and he never let anyone drive that thing.  The driver's seat was leaned so far back it was resting on the back seat, and I felt like the coolest girl in the world behind the wheel.  Southernplayalisticcadillacfunkymusic was the soundtrack to that summer, and it brings his long pointless stories back every time.

Montell Jordan brings back the ride to high school graduation with my best girlfriend.  This is how we do it at the top of our lungs all the way to the coliseum.

DMX brings back every Tuesday and Wednesday night at the club.  It's Dark and Hell is Hot was on nonstop replay for months, and I made more mistakes than I can count while bouncing to that one.

Warren G's Regulators,  Snoop's Doggystyle, Dr. Dre's Chronic, anything from 2Pac, Wu-tang, Black Sheep, Busta Rhymes, Nas, The Fugees, Cypress Hill, Eric B. & Rakim.  Every song on this station has a face and a place and a memory attached.  Most also have at least two mistakes tagging along.  Every time the girls are gone and I can blast that station loud enough to bother the neighbors, I'm taken right back down to the strip we drove before we were smart enough to know better. 

And I smile.

MOVE me

I want to be moved.


To tears.
To dance.
To action.
To scream.


Move me in ways that feel like I'm flying.

Move me to the rhythm of the song stuck in your head.

Move me to contemplate all the ways I can hide the body.

Move me across the room so that I can be closer to your smile.

Move me across the country so I can be further from your off-key singing.



I want to feel the shift that you inspire inside me.



To paint walls in your favorite color.
To do an old school shout out on the radio.
To not want to replace every inch you occupy.
To burn all the pictures of you I keep in my mind.
To stop in my tracks at the scent of your cologne.
To wake in the middle of the night with words begging to be put on paper.



Move me.

Or move on.


(Woke up with this in my head three days in a row & decided it was time to put it out.)

Voice in her head

Last night, Maya was being extra "entertaining".  She was making up songs and dancing to them.  And, she was cracking herself up with jokes that made no sense.  She was laughing so deeply and freely that we all just stopped to watch her.

"Ita, do you hear voices in your head?", I asked her.

"Yep."

"Really?  What do they say?"

"That I'm awesome.  And I'm very pretty.  And I'm the smartest.  And, I'm the best at backflips."

"Oh, OK.  What does the voice sound like?"

"You."

Forgetting for a moment that Maya has never actually done a backflip, I was short of breath at her answers.  I had asked the question as a joke because she honestly seems to have more going on inside her head than the average kid.  I expected her to look at me like I was crazy when I asked about voices.  Instead, she changed everything.

You always hear that the words a parent says stick in a child's mind.  And, you know it's true on some level.  I can remember every terrible thing my mother ever said to me, including the sound of the hatred in her voice as she formed the scars.  But, to hear from your own child that you are literally the voice inside her head makes you stop and think.  Or at least it should.

I am lucky that what she hears are affirmations.  Of course, they're also all the things Maya already believes to be true about herself.  And, I wholeheartedly believe she would believe these things even without anyone telling her because she has a very strong sense of self.  However, not all kids are born with the self esteem this little one was blessed with.  What does Eva hear inside her mind?  Or Sofia?  Or other children who's parents don't realize what their voice can do?

Do I tell them enough that they are special?  Probably not.  With a preteen, I find myself telling her more often to please brush her teeth/finish her homework/pick up her mess/wipe the dirty look off her face.  With a child who has some emotional issues, I am sure I say too often "go to your room and calm down before we both explode" or "stop whining at me before I rip my own ears off."  Do they know that they are also awesome and pretty and smart?  I hope so, and I hope I can remind them more often now that I've been reminded that my voice is helping to form who they believe themselves to be.

"You are the three most awesome children anyone has ever been given.  You are all special and beautiful and smart.  And, not one of you is good at backflips - yet."