Tikeetha T

Whose Perception?

Posted on April 18, 2018April 18, 2018 by Tikeetha T

January 2018

“There is no truth. There is only perception.” – Gustave Flaubert

I’m sitting here thinking about perception or rather yet the verb of perception (perceive) and trying to understand how police are trained to view threats. Is there some secret to this? How can some officers discern what is real from what is fiction before shooting to kill?

It’s something that bothers me. I’m trying to gain clarity and understanding about this. I have a black son. I don’t like having different rules for him that some of my other friends that aren’t raising black sons don’t have. Are we perceived threats by the color of our skin? By our tone? By our clothes?

As Munch is getting ready to enter the double digits in a couple of weeks, I’ve been trying to wrap my mind around the fact that my son will begin to drive in six short years. That he’ll want to go out and have fun with friends, get a job or get back and forth to practice. On his own. In a car.

However, before that happens, I have to teach him things that could save his life if ever pulled over…

Let me do a visual check before you drive. I’m checking for all working lights so that can’t be an excuse for you getting pulled over.
No more than 2 other friends in the car. Keep your head straight and both hands on the wheel.
Stay calm and clearly answer the questions that are asked. Don’t let someone rile you up. Be respectful.
Call my cell phone before stopping and record the entire conversation on my voicemail if I don’t answer. Speak loud and clear.
Keep your license and registration card in your wallet and your wallet in the cup holder. Don’t reach for anything.

I guess I’m perceiving that the officer that stops my son will see him as human. A young man. A man worthy to make it home to mama.

This post was part of the A2Z challenge and the letter “P” is for Perception. My posts will be written as a journal style for the challenge and will be on the theme: Mothering While Black. I hope you enjoyed it.

Want to keep in touch? You can find me on social media at the following links: Twitter @mskeeinmd, Facebook page A Thomas Point of View and my Instagram page https://www.instagram.com/mskeeinmd/.

Objective

Posted on April 17, 2018April 17, 2018 by Tikeetha T

Objective

A mother with almost 10 years of experience in raising a black boy seeks a position where I can foresee the future. I’m highly intelligent with an ability to multi-task my projects, people and presence in my son’s life. My background in Human Resources allows me to find multiple ways to effectively communicate my expectations with my son. I view discipline as a way to influence positive behavior and have achieved successful results. I’m both strong willed and determined, which is a requirement when trying to navigate two different parenting styles in two households. I value developing my son into a young man that will live to watch his great grandchildren playing in the backyard which is why I’m looking for a position that will allow me to confirm that all I’ve done and continue to do will be enough. That he will live.

This post was part of the A2Z challenge and the letter “O” is for Objective. My posts will be written as a journal style for the challenge and will be on the theme: Mothering While Black. I hope you enjoyed it.

Nursing

Posted on April 17, 2018 by Tikeetha T

December 2007

I asked him “Do you want me to breastfeed?” It really wasn’t his choice. It was mine. Nursing was a personal choice. He responded “I would like you to try.” I thought about it. I could try.

April 2008

I was exhausted. The delivery was an emergency c-section. I was sick. The baby had to come out because I couldn’t take anymore. But, I wanted to nurse. In post-op I wanted to nurse him. I asked to nurse him. I didn’t want them to give him a bottle. I wanted him to nurse from his mother. I was too weak. I was told that they had to give him something. Sugar water I think. I was hazy. “Rest mama” is what they kept saying.

May 2008

With many of the tubes removed from me I’m now settled in the maternity wing. No more high risk wing. My blood pressure is still high. Pills to reduce it. “I want to nurse him” I say. “You’re too weak mama. We’ll give him formula. You can pump.” I cried. All I wanted to do was to nurse him. I slept. I was exhausted.

Day 3 after my delivery, the lactation consultant came to show me how to nurse him. I told her that I had been sick and they wanted me to pump. That I pumped and my mom fed him from the bottles but I wanted to nurse him. She told me that nursing was best. She turned over the bottle and the milk just flowed out. She explained that babies don’t have to work for it in the bottle. They have to work for it on the boob. The next twenty minutes were about her showing me how to nurse my son. He was 3 days old and I finally got to nurse him. It was weird. It didn’t hurt. It just was a weird experience.

I sighed.

I’m a mom.

I’m nursing.

I did it.

This post was part of the A2Z challenge and the letter “N” is for Nursing. My posts will be written as a journal style for the challenge and will be on the theme: Mothering While Black. I hope you enjoyed it.

Mom

Posted on April 16, 2018April 17, 2018 by Tikeetha T

November 2008

I went home to Tennessee to visit with my family. Specifically my cousin Boo-Bop. I needed to see him. The time is getting near His cancer is getting worse. I’m praying that he lasts until I give birth. I just need more time.

I did get to tell him that my son would be named after him. He smiled. He only had girls. He seemed excited. We talked. Really talked about me being a mom. I told him that I’m scared. I was unsure of what kind of mother I would be.

I wasn’t the mothering type. He laughed. He told me that no one truly knows what kind of parent you’ll be. You just wing it. You live, you love and you teach. He told me that there wasn’t too much to it.

I sighed.

I told him that I tell my baby every day that I love him. I know he’s in utero and probably can’t hear me, but that is what I need him to know. That I love him. I didn’t hear it growing up. He told me how my aunt, his mom, didn’t tell him until he was diagnosed with cancer. I was shocked.

I asked him did it bother him? He said no. He said that he knew she loved him but that his cancer diagnosis made her remember to tell him. He understood.

Later on that evening, I talked to grandma about our conversation and she explained that she never told her kids that she loved them either. She said that loved them, but never thought about it because she was busy being a single mom and trying to raise them. But, she said it was her fault that her kids didn’t learn it. She said many black parents didn’t tell their children that they loved them. She was one of them.

Many things scare me about being a mom, but I know that love isn’t one of them. So, I will continue to read to him and tell him that I love him each and every day. Inside and outside my womb. I need him to know that his mom means it more than he could ever have imagined. I promise to change the dynamic of this mom thing so that when he grows up – love won’t seem foreign rolling off his tongue.

This post was part of the A2Z challenge and the letter “M” is for Mom. My posts will be written as a journal style for the challenge and will be on the theme: Mothering While Black. I hope you enjoyed it.

Love

Posted on April 16, 2018April 17, 2018 by Tikeetha T

I’m late. This should have gone out on Friday. Please forgive me for just getting out this post. It’s about love…

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April 16, 2018

There are times as a parent when you realize that your job is not to be the parent you always imagined you’d be, the parent you always wished you had. Your job is to be the parent your child needs, given the particulars of his or her own life and nature.

Ayelet Waldman

Love. There is no greater gift than to love the young man that God has blessed me with. He’s pretty amazing. I thank God for him every day. He is a child that challenges me to be better. I’ve grown because of him into someone that finds joy in the everyday simple moments of rushed kisses, determined hugs and high fives. I will support his dreams and help him understand his failures are a part of life. I will encourage him to just be himself because that is what the world loves.

This post was part of the A2Z challenge and the letter “L” is for Love. My posts will be written as a journal style for the challenge and will be on the theme: Mothering While Black. I hope you enjoyed it.

Knowledge

Posted on April 13, 2018April 12, 2018 by Tikeetha T

October 2017

I’m sitting here trying to explain to Munch the importance of taking turns in class. He likes his teacher and is settling in, but he doesn’t understand why the teacher doesn’t call on him. Talking to him is like pulling teeth some times. I need definitive and direct answers about what is happening in class. I need to assess whether or not the class environment is working.

He continues to talk and says well I answered that question right. I respond “So, your teacher did call on you today in class?” “Yeah” he replies “But, I wanted to answer more questions”. I smile and tell him that I understand but it is important that the teacher calls on other students as well. I explain how teachers want to give other children the opportunity to answer questions as well, regardless of whether or not they may raise their hands. She needs them to participate.

He smiles. I asked does he understand and he says “Yes, mommy.”

Crisis averted. I search for more in depth analysis of his days because it is important to me that I learn about the complete classroom experience in his words. Before he even started schools, I searched to try and understand the research that was basically telling me that my son would have it harder than I ever did in school. Research that told me the following…

Black boys are more likely to be placed in special education.

Yes, I know it. Read the statistics. Scared me to think that I was sending my 5 year old black boy into a school that didn’t understand him. To a teacher that may not enjoy teaching children or better yet understanding the culture of black boys. I read how teachers like to diagnose and place them in special education. Not my Munch.

Black boys are not reading on grade level.

We spent a lot of time trying to prepare Munch for school. The French Immersion program provided him many benefits of learning another language. I knew that it would boost his scores in English and Math for his ACT and SAT scores that he would take later. I also knew that learning a foreign language would increase the size of his brain. Those things were important. I had to set him up for success. I read to him while he was in my womb and continued to read to him after birth. I made sure that he knew his site words and could read going into kindergarten.

Punishment for black boys is harsher than for any other demographic.

Yes, so many articles told me that Munch would be punished harder than his other peers who may be of a different race based on the color of his skin. I had to teach him things like “No rough housing, keep your hands to your self, keep a minimum of 10 feet between you and the next person when standing in line, etc.” It’s exhausting, but he had to know. He had to know that the lessons that I was teaching him would be of benefit.

Knowledge is powerful. When I read too much I get stressed thinking that Munch will suffer a fate worse than death if I’m not an advocate for him. That’s probably why I am active at his school and in his school. The administration has to know that I appreciate and support them.

This post was part of the A2Z challenge and the letter “K” is for Knowledge. My posts will be written as a journal style for the challenge and will be on the theme: Mothering While Black. I hope you enjoyed it.

Jordan

Posted on April 12, 2018April 11, 2018 by Tikeetha T

April 30, 2017

Munch turned 9 today. I’m having a party for him later today. I’m excited. He’s excited. Yet, I’m sad. Every year as I watch him grow I’m in fear of his safety. I try to block it out. I try to think positive, but something happens that reminds me that my son has a bulls eye on his back.

Today it was Jordan Edwards death. Jordan was a straight-A student, talented athlete who came from a two-parent home. Yet, even with those stats he wasn’t safe. He was 15 years old and the day before Munch’s 9th birthday he was murdered.

Munch will be 15 in six years. How can I protect him when it seems that our police are trained to fear their life and shoot without thinking? He didn’t do anything. To many what ifs play in my mind. What if Munch is riding in a car? What if Munch is walking home from the store? What if Munch is playing with his friends outside? I can’t breathe some days thinking about the what ifs. The list is endless.

My mind is in a daze this morning. I must check my emotions, put on some make up and smile because this is the day that I brought forth life. A mother is mourning the loss of her son as I sit preparing to celebrate mine. I will pray for that mother and her family. I will love on my son and kiss harder and love harder than ever before.

This has got to stop.

Black is beautiful.

He is beautiful.

He is loved.

This post was part of the A2Z challenge and the letter “J” is for Jordan. My posts will be written as a journal style for the challenge and will be on the theme: Mothering While Black. I hope you enjoyed it.

	laurelwolfelives on Nursing
	Jay Thomas on Whose Perception?
	Tikeetha T on Love
	kelley on Love
	Tikeetha T on Nursing