Cleveland

November 22, 2014

I’m standing in the kitchen trying to prepare dinner. Munch is in his room watching television and waiting for his dinner. I hear the news. A 12 year old boy named Tamir Rice was just gunned down in a park in Cleveland, Ohio by two police officers. The glass I was holding shatters.

He was 12. The picture shows a sweet smiling little boy. I watch the news with tears as I wonder how anyone could kill a 12 year old boy. What has this world come too? A mother burying her son. This isn’t how the world is supposed to work. We are supposed to have our children bury us after many years lived.

He won’t have that opportunity. I wonder is anywhere safe. I wonder if this little boy’s mom thought that the city of Cleveland was safe. If her street or neighborhood was safe. If she thought that those who were supposed to protect and serve would never harm her son.

Another boy dies. Another mother weeps. A life cut short. How can I protect my four year old son? No guns. No play guns. No Nerf guns. I have to keep Munch safe.

I clean up the broken glass and think that this is life. We’re all broken. The police are broken. This family is broken. The justice system is broken.

No rest for mothers tonight.

 

C

 

 

This post was part of the A2Z challenge and the letter “C” is for Cleveland. 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/.

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Black

May 1, 2008

I held him in my arms. In awe. This little black boy was mine. I couldn’t believe that I did this. That God allowed me to be the vessel for this little prince. My son. I stared in amazement.

His color hadn’t come in. His melanin would be a rich coco brown. A combination between his father and I. I smelled him. I kissed him. I loved him. I couldn’t describe the feelings that I was experiencing. It was surreal.

I created life. A trying delivery and I couldn’t really bond with him. I couldn’t find the strength to hold him yesterday after his birth. The drugs. They were plentiful and being pumped in my IV. I was sore from the C-section and they didn’t even get me up to walk.

“You need to rest mama” the Ethiopian nurse urged. I sighed. I was exhausted. I could barely explain the overwhelmingly feeling of being drugged and unable to lift my arms. Many visitors came to see this beautiful boy. Our joy personified.

He just slept. No worries. No cries. Just sleeping in peace. I couldn’t believe it. I smiled that night that I went to sleep. Times were changing. My son was born at an important time. We had the first real candidate Barack Obama running for President. I prayed that he would win. He was a black man. My son was black. I wanted him to see himself in Barack and I wanted to tell him that he could be anyone or anything in this world and truly mean it. He could be President of the United States. Wouldn’t that be awesome?

I just snuggled more. Kissed more and prayed that his life is as God has planned. I thanked the Almighty for hearing my pleas when his life was in jeopardy. I thanked him for giving me joy. For giving me this black boy that I would love and protect with everything in me. One day.

One day. He was one day old. Would he be safe?

B

This post was part of the A2Z challenge and the letter “B” is for Black. 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/.

Anguish

July 6, 2016

Today I cried. A silent cry. Tears streamed down my face. I stifled my anguish. I silenced the wail that was building in my throat. Another. Another black man was shot by the police. This time in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. He was 37. He had a name. It was Alton Sterling. He had a family.

He was more than the media make him out to be. He is was more. He was a father. He was a son. He wasn’t alone.

Second day of blood shed. I watched the video and tried to rationalize that something must have happened. But, I couldn’t. I couldn’t understand this murder. It was murder right?

Another black man who leaves behind a black son who will always remember that his father was murdered. In cold blood. At a gas station. Who will protect and serve him from this tragedy?

He will grow up. He won’t forget. None of us will. I pray that his anger and rage are used for positive. I pray that he sees that he will be the force of change.

I pray that his mother will get the strength to preach love and peace in a chaotic time to the black boy that she must raise alone. That she knows that heavy the crown she wears now because it is at this point that she must choose love no matter how easy it is to choose hate. I pray that she doesn’t succumb to the pain and leave her son alone to fend for himself because he needs her. He needs everyone. He needs to know that he is not alone.

I stifle my anger and anguish and think of the words of Langston Hughes poem: A Dream Deferred:

What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore–
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over–
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?

I shall pray harder tonight. I shall hold my son harder. I shall kiss him longer. I shall pray that this madness stops. I shall pray that no more mothers have to bury their children. I shall try to scrub the bulls eye off his back.

If only for one more night.

A

This post was part of the A2Z challenge and the letter “A” is for anguish. 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/.

I AM STRONG & BRAVE

This particular Saturday morning, I’m looking at my 2-year-old son playing with puzzles. He looked at me and said: “Mommy, this is too hard, but I got it.”

All parents have read about bed or morning routines. Even Daniel Tiger and Elmo have this covered. My family has always believed in the power of words or confessions. My mother confessed to my sister every morning: “You are the head and not the tail, above only and not beneath.”  I believe (& think my SiSi would agree) that these words resonated in her mind when she wanted to throw in the towel.

Every night we pray for my son to be thankful for family, friends, and provisions. But additionally, I pray (out loud) for my son to be strong & brave. I never saw that world as a scary place until I became a mother. These glasses of parenting put a filter on everything as terrifying. Most importantly, I know the world will be unkind to a young black man. The joy he has today is delicate and needs to be preserved. I want to protect him, cover him, shield him… but I know I can’t. I can only pray that he always finds the strength to be joyous, strength to trust God and Strength to be brave enough to keep moving forward when the world will feel cold.

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I guess, I never meant for this reflection to be so emotionally heavy. I am generally not that type of writer, but out of your heart flows the truth. Take the time to speak life over the children your world. Nieces, nephews, God-children,  neighbors, & friends every child deserves to hear that they are loved and amazing.

With Love;

Southern Fried Mommy

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This post was shared by Southern Fried City Girl. I love her blog. She’s one of the newer blogs that I discovered and I’m happy to share her work. She’s a wife, a mom, a woman of faith and everything in between. Go follow her at her wonderful blog called: Southern Fried City Girl

Read: Men Rape Us And You Let Them

One of my favorite sites is For Harriet and I read such a powerful essay the other day that I just had to share it. This writer’s words resonate with so many of us that have been victims of sexual assault. You know that I’m a survivor, but many of you are also a survivor. Many of your friends, family or acquaintances may have suffered sexual assault or abuse. It never ends.

Before Bill Cosby, Harvey Weinstein or the many other famous men that have been accused, there are just normal men out here that are hurting women and children. No one should have to be a victim of abuse. No one should have to tell the story of their #metoo assault for you to realize that we have to be advocates. Advocates for every one.

My prayer is that you will start seeing that this is a problem in our country and finding ways to stop the violence. To stop the predators. To protect the victims before they even become victims. It will take a village.

Please read this powerful essay by Nicole Shawan Junior entitled Men Rape Us and You Let Them

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Note: I don’t own the rights to this photo. Through a Google search it came up.

 

 

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/.

Baggage Check: Racism

So, the other day I received a comment on my post Dear White People that needed to be approved. I read the comment and sent that garbage to spam. Why? Because this is my blog and I don’t allow your BS or baggage on it. Writer’s prerogative.

I go check out the page of the person and was shocked that WordPress even allows this foolishness here:  https://vikingstrongman.wordpress.com/. This person is a white supremacist talking that racist BS that will destroy America and allow you the anonymity that you can claim in cyber world. Let me be clear, I don’t do racism or white supremacy. Not in real life or in cyberspace.

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He’s referring to blacks as niggers. Really? So, it takes a real man to hide in cyberspace and try to fuel the hate in so many people. Be authentic in your hate. Show your face. Spread your hate without a white robe.

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Let me be clear…I am about the inclusiveness of all people and no race is better than another. We were all created by one God and are descendants of Adam and Eve. I don’t care who you voted for (because I serve a Heavenly Father) and I will not allow people to disrespect me or my space. If you want to blame everything going on in the world on everyone else then check yourself.

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I don’t fear terrorists from other countries when we raise more terrorists in America than those that enter our borders. The face of terrorism to me is not brown. Take your hatred of all those that seek peace and kick rocks. We will not go quietly in the night.

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This election has allowed those white supremacists to show their true colors and think that it is acceptable to disrespect people of color. It is not. I will not allow you to come for me or my family. I will not allow you to disrespect any group that I support (women, children, men, veteran’s, the LGBQT family, people of color or any other group). We are one. United we stand.

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Does Length Matter?

As in the length you date before you get married? Not the question about a man’s penis. Get your mind out of the gutters! LOL! Seriously though, does it matter how long you date before you get married?

The reason that I ask is that I’m so in love with #ForeverDuncan right now. Hadn’t heard about it? Alfred, the groom, proposed to his girlfriend, Sherrell, at 12 pm and arranged their entire wedding at 6 pm that same day. He did everything. She had no idea. She is absolutely surprised and it was captured on social media.

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It was a beautiful sight to see a beautiful bride overwhelmed with love for a man that she could barely come down the aisle. I was literally in tears. But, you know that with every good thing there are always trolls that will spoil a moment. Like this post:

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So, I ask these three questions…

  1. Does the length of a relationship matter?
  2. Is 9 years too long to wait to get married?
  3. Would you wait 9 years to get married?

Their love story captured on social media is absolutely beautiful. As a woman that is now divorced I would say that the length of a relationship doesn’t matter. I’m older though. I’m in my 40’s and I don’t want anymore children biologically so there is no rush to the altar in order to have a chance at motherhood. However, when I was in my 20’s I had a two year rule…I would only date you for two years without an engagement ring and a promise for the future.

I know. I know. That’s ridiculous. But, I also know that a man knows within a year whether or not he can see himself married to you. The thing that we need to remember though…even if he sees himself married to you, does that mean you’re compatible for the long-term that marriage requires?

In my case, we definitely should have waited. We weren’t compatible and prepared for long-term. Maybe if we’d waited a couple of more years things may have been different. I doubt it, but you never know. That being said, I, at 41 am definitely okay with waiting a while longer.

Mr. C and I discussed marriage (I brought it up) after a conversation with a girlfriend of mine who wanted to know are we ready to take it to the next level. I said with certainty “No”. She looked shocked. I explained that I loved him, but I loved where we were more. We were taking our time to cultivate our relationship and create experiences with each other and our children. We don’t want anymore children so we have time.

She laughed. I then told him that I need at least two more years of dating (a total of 3) and then let’s see where we are at. No rush. No surprises. Love is great, but sustaining a healthy relationship is better. He agreed.

Now, will I wait nine years to get married? Probably not, but who knows. I think that it takes time to develop at a healthy pace. Whatever is healthy for your relationship is what you should do. Everyone’s journey is different and I guess in reality it doesn’t matter how long or how short the trip to the altar is as long as you’re doing it together.

Congrats to the Duncans!

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Check out their wedding video here:

 

 

Disclaimer: I own no rights to the pictures. I did  a Google search and found them.