A Suit Doesn't Cover the Ratchet

I had the extreme pleasure of going to see the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater  yesterday.  I’ve gone for the last few years, and it’s always great to see such expression through dance.  As I was walking up to the Fox Theatre, I was overcome with minks, 4 inch heels, dress suits, and other expressions of Sunday’s best clothing.  I instantly thought, “Oh Lord, black folks going to the ball-et.  They have got to show out.”  However, my mom instantly hushed me, supporting their efforts to look fancy huh, at this event.  I kept quiet.

With two minutes to spare, we were seated and ready to enjoy the show.  Throughout the show, I was impressed with the long lines, the delicacy, the lightness, and the strength of the dancers.  But you know what?  I was quickly reminded that everything that glitters ain’t gold….that a suit doesn’t cover the ratchet.  I would have been much more pleased had the dance guests simply googled “ballet audience etiquette” where you will find several articles surrounding this topic.  I will review a few rules here.

1.        You don’t have to clap after every move.-There are so many nice movements that the dancers perform.  You could quite frankly clap through the entire performance.  But that is not appropriate.  Clap after each piece or when the dancer performs an extremely difficult or challenging move.

2.       Go to the restroom on pauses and/or intermissions.-Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater is so clever.  They place several pauses and intermissions throughout the performance.  It’s like they are trying to train our bladders!  Utilize those times to go to the restroom because going to the restroom in the middle of the performance is …dare I say it, rude!

3.       Return to your seat during pauses and/or intermissions.-Okay, so you have gone to the restroom during a pause or intermission.  Gold star for you.  But unfortunately time doesn’t allow you to come back before the dancers resume.  If you are not on the end seat, it’s proper to wait for a pause or a break between the dances to return to your seat.  You interrupt everyone else’s experience because of your bladder pressure.

4.       Do not leave until after curtain call. -  This has to be the most important.  After the most historical piece of Alvin Ailey, Revelations, the dancers come on the stage and do rounds of bows.  It’s like leaving church during alter call, it’s just…dare I say it, rude!  This was the worst display of movie theater etiquette that I saw during the performance.  They weren’t even finished “rockin my soul in the bosom of Abraham,” before people were trying to leave!  I was so disturbed. 

Thanks for indulging me in this explanation of ballet audience etiquette.  What I think made me more upset about this situation; however, is the false sense of professionalism and success that some black people own. People came dressed to the nines, but that’s it.  It’s not about how you carry yourself, the conversation that you can hold, or the words that come out of your mouth, it is about what you are wearing.  That makes you professional.  That is your exhibition of success.  I’ve seen this happen in so many instances of work, femininity, and class.  A suit automatically makes me professional.  High heels and polished fingernails make me a woman.  What I wear unequivocally makes me classy.  Well sir or madam, I do not agree.   These aforementioned things tell a chapter of my story, but they are disposable.  When I go home, and take all of these items off, what makes me classy then?   What makes me cultured?  It is how I hold my head up high, how I treat other people, what holds my interest, and what I think of myself supported by my actions that make me classy.  That’s my definition.

Call me? Definitely

(770)981-4002.  That was my private phone number growing up.  I remember talking for hours on that phone.  Getting to know boys, boyfriends, and wanna be boyfriends.  I literally considered the ease in which I was able to conduct conversations with a guy as evidence on the amount of chemistry we had.  Could we talk for hours?  No pauses?  Finishing sentences?  Did we really have to tell each other to hang up in order to get off of the phone?  "You hang up, no you hang up.  On three hang up?"  Yep, I did that.  It may not have seemed like it then, but a guy had to put in some work, stay on the phone line, to get to know me.  I mean, it doesn't seem like this equated to high standards, but clearly, it does.

Unfortunately, times have changed.  With modern technology evolving daily, it has become way too easy to get to know people through social media.  I can never have laid eyes on someone, but know their occupation, likes/dislikes, food allergies, marital status, etc.  Now this is okay if I'm facebook stalking someone, getting to know them from afar.  But if I am really trying to get to know someone, or better yet, they are trying to get to know me, Imma (incorrect English, but this is how strong I feel) need them to pick up the phone, and put in some work.

My girlfriends and I have talked about this extensively.  If a guy is trying to get to know me, more energy is needed.  I know that we may eventually text, or somehow text throughout the "getting to know you" phase.  "Good morning," "Have a good day," "Good night," those are all fine to let me know that you are thinking of me.  But please, please sir, do not text me with a "What's up?" or a "Hey!" as a first exchange.  Clearly, your conversation skills are not what's up.  You will indefinitely be ignored.  And really, I'm not being overly particular, or picky, but how much energy does it really take to do what we so happily did at 14 years old?   Have a genuine conversation.  Pick up the phone. Get to know me.  I know we can't be in each other's presence all of the time, so let me hear your voice.  Let me know if our interactions are forced or free flowing.  For goodness sake, learn my speech pattern.

I know that everyone doesn't like talking on the phone.  I get it.  And I'm not saying to over exacerbate this method of communication either.  What I am saying is...texting gets the job done. Bravo to the phone companies for creating such a convenient tool.  It's great when used as intended.  It's a way to quickly contact someone to update them, share a funny tidbit, check-in every few weeks, particularly if you do not feel like talking, or have the time to do so.    But quite frankly, if you really want to get to know someone, you need to have the time and the desire.  If not, you're wasting your unlimited text messages.

Not All Mothers Are Created Equal

I'm not the nicest, most considerate person to talk to when it comes to single motherhood.  Maybe it's because I'm not a mother.  Maybe it's because I experience the ramifications of poor parenting and inadequate love each day in my family.  Maybe it's because I see generations of illiteracy walk through my school doors each day.  Whatever the reason, I am not Team Single Mother.  I do not automatically give single mothers a pass.  I do not assume that all single mothers are trying their hardest, and want the best for their kids.  And I don't feel like all single mothers are owed anything.

People are quick to say that being able to reproduce does not make a man a father, but dare I say it, it doesn't make a woman a mother either.  Why should we assume that being a female carries some sort of motherly gene that gets activated when  a woman gives birth?  Let's be clear.  There are some sorry, pathetic mothers out there that have no right giving birth to a dog, let alone a child.  I get tired of hearing single mother mantras and soliloquies, as if it applies to all.  I can't feel sorry for you when you have three kids running behind you, one on the hip, and one that you're expecting.  A handout?  Some help?  Child please.

There are some women that have children for very selfish reasons.  To keep a man.  To be forever connected to a man.  Because babies are so stinking cute.  They make a very linear decision to have a child, without thinking about what it really takes to parent one.  These are the women that get pregnant by men that have fatherless children, but feel that they will have a different experience.  That, for some reason, he'll be a better father for her soon to be fatherless child.  But the cycle continues.  Women have got to think with their brains, not their longing for male attention or to feed their ego or insecurities.  I don't feel sorry for them.  I feel sorry for the children that are born into such foolishness and instability.

And here's my ending preface...I know many excellent single mothers.  This is no disrespect to them.  They have amazing children, with amazing experiences and loving lives.  They look at their motherhood as a gift, rather than a burden.  Cheers to you!  Sing your single mother mantra, but keep the others out of it.

Keep it in the Closet

Love.  Unfortunately, I don't feel as if I have been in love in my adult life.  I haven't had that feeling.  That extreme emotion for someone else.  That selfless feeling that makes even the most simple of us, poetic.  I can recall a time where I felt something for someone, stronger than like, but not as powerful as love.  And now, as I kind of sit, beginning to sulk about my lack of love, I think further to others of us, who feel love and can't express it. 

I'm sure that most people reading my blog by now have heard about the courageous movement of Frank Ocean (I started this a long time ago, by the way, and am just now sitting down to finish).  Coming out as a black man, I can only imagine is difficult.  The black community has a history of isolating scriptures in the Bible to condemn some, but ignoring other scriptures that would condemn more "accepted" behaviors, claiming that time or present day mores trumps the writings of the Old and New Testament.  As you have read in my previous blogs, however, this is not a religious entry.  I digress.

Okay, so we have established that Ocean is black, let's now add that he is coming out as a R&B/Hip-Hop singer teeterer that has not yet reached his prime.  Hasn't reached the place where people love you regardless of what you choose to do with your life.  Case in point...Robert "I didn't put the R in R&B" Kelly.   Yea, I went there, but again, I digress.

Reading Frank Ocean's open letter about his first love, makes me not only want to experience love, but makes me hurt for so many people out there living, loving in silence.  Loving in fear.  Fear of being judged, mistreated, and unable to experience fully what is pushed down our little toddler throats as we grow up in a heterosexual society.  From a very young age, we are asked about the opposite sex crush in our class.  We are taught to sing "first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in a baby carriage."  We make sure to pair up Barbie and Ken, to emphasize our definition of what love really entails.  Because love could not, absolutely could not exist between same sex pairs.

But what if it could?  Let's just imagine that love is about personality, chemistry, or a spiritual connection that extends far beyond race, color, religion, or even gender.  Could love exist then?  Who decides...

Woman Thou Art Loose

This isn't a religious entry...but it may raise some Christian eyebrows.  This is Convo talking, at the purest state of being.  In front of a purely nonjudgmental audience, I would like to tell the world that yes, I too, watch Basketball Wives.  I know it isn't right, but darn it, after a hard day, or not even that hard of a day, I like to watch trash TV.  Well, even if you won't openly admit that you watch Basketball Wives yourself, I am pretty sure that you are aware of Evelyn Lozada.  In my family or even among friends, I have engaged in lengthy conversations about Evelyn Lozada and her "looseness."   


Many people have criticized Evelyn for engaging in sexual activity with numerous men.  I don't personally know Evelyn or have an accurate count of her sexual partners, but I'd just like to say publicly, that I really do not care what tricks and flips she does in her bedroom, or whom she does them with.  Aside from Evelyn, aside from Rihanna, and aside from Lynn from Girlfriends, my favorite show when Toni was still there by the way, there are plenty of women that are sexually liberated, and do not ascribe to the sexual mores of society.  For men, sex is a right of passage, it helps to define their masculinity (definitely not in an exclusive fashion).  I'm not saying that it is noble, and women please don't be naive at this point here.  We may not define masculinity in this way, but when fathers and sons have "that talk," it is one filled with encouragement, excitement, and pride, on both ends.  Men can sleep with multiple women, maybe considered a dog by some, but I doubt many people would call him "loose."  We've all heard that "a man's got needs," right?

If a woman sleeps with multiple men, she's promiscuous, a hoe, fast, and downright nasty.  I do not choose to live my life this way, but if a woman enjoys sex and enjoys the company of men, why is it right or wrong?  We may have a separate set of values that we live by, or would like our daughters to follow, but I don't believe she is a whore.  She lives by her own rules, not mine.  As long as she is not having unprotected sex, having multiple babies by multiple men, sleeping with a different man for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, or sleeping with my imaginary man, then I'd just like to offer my blessing to her.  Go on girl, go head get down!


And again, this isn't a religious entry.  This is Convo talking, at the purest state of being.  I'm talking about sex, without any religious influences.  Purely the double standard between men's right of passage and women's sexual liberation.

Somebody, anybody, sing a black girl song

All of my blogs are super personal to me.  Because of the different feelings I have had with my natural hair journey...feeling empowered, feeling invisible, feeling beautiful, feeling unpretty, feeling free to be myself...this blog entry is extremely dear to me, and hopefully will speak to you.


A week ago after trying out my new staple two strand twist, before it had the chance to get as big as I like it, a close relative walked up to me and greeted me, "Hey Aunt Jemima!" Realizing the inappropriateness of this comment, but also the inappropriateness of fully addressing this comment in a hospital, I said nothing.  But I'll address it now.  In a public forum.  For all ignorant people that are uncomfortable with natural blackness.  Mind you, I am not an advocate to say that every black woman should wear a natural.  I am an advocate for my definition of beauty being just as good as yours.


This Aunt Jemima comment could have stemmed from several areas of hate or historical slander that has plagued the black community. Aunt Jemima represented several stereotypes of black women or reasons why black women were not as beautiful or worthy as their white counterparts.  The Aunt Jemima prototype was very dark skinned, overweight, loud, and I assumed had kinky hair, since it was always covered with a handkerchief.


Why would a decently educated black woman call another black woman Aunt Jemima given the historical significance of this black caricature?  Yes Aunt Jemima represents many positive qualities that the black mother prides herself on, being nurturing, caring, and able to be a mother to children that are not her own.  But please forgive me if I don't take this name calling as a compliment.  I know that it was not intended in that way.


You see, whereas this family member may see any one of my "Aunt Jemima-esque" qualities as a negative, I have had to learn to love and accept my brown skin, my non-relaxed hair, and my curves.  However, I will return to the non-relaxed hair as the focal point of her diss, as we share similarities in the other attributes.


I went natural just to see what God blessed me with.  I have had relaxed hair for as long as I remember, maybe second or third grade.  I wanted to know what Chavonne looked like, what I truly look like.  Little did I know that I would have my family making cracks at my hair, forever commenting on what it was or was not doing, and constantly telling me of their approval or disapproval.  I guess they really think that their opinion counts...well not anymore.  I had to learn that how someone counts themselves beautiful has nothing to do with me and is none of my business.  I've got to define beauty for myself.  It is important for the black community to do that for ourselves, as a whole.  We constantly ascribe to what society defines as beautiful.  Look at the cover of any magazine and you'll quickly figure out what that represents.  Unfortunately, that leaves our kinks out, especially if it's not that Hawaiian Silky type that waves up when water hits it.


I know that I'm beautiful.  My "black" qualities are just as beautiful as Beyonce's white ones.  My shapely nose, my child bearing hips, my voluptuous lips, and my kinky curly hair are wonderfully me, exquisitely black...Aunt Jemima my ass.


Anyone remember this....http://youtu.be/36eD11Euk80

"That's Just My Baby Daddy," Literally

As an advocate of healthy families and children everywhere, I can’t help but to cringe when hearing about this idiot Tennessee man that has fathered 30 children, with 11 different baby mamas.  One reporter looked at the situation as child abuse, and I have to agree.  How can you continue to purposely bring children into the world, when you know you cannot care for them?  I know that it’s done on a daily basis, 5 maybe 6 kids, but 30?  It’s reported that some of the women receive $1.49 a month in child support, since Desmond Hatchett works a minimum wage job.  Guess he can’t afford child support or condoms for that matter.

But I can’t let the mamas off the hook.  They are just as ignorant as they come.  (I’m sorry this entry isn’t more sophisticated.  I just can’t)  If a man has 3 kids and hasn’t been married, I’m asking questions.  What you been doing?  Naw.   What THE hell you been doing?  Why would you want to have a child with a man that clearly does not think that it’s important to be a good father?  Let’s put the lunch money child support aside, and focus on just the ability to “father” these children.  Desmond cannot be a role model to these kids.  Desmond cannot spend quality time with all 30 of these kids and teach them about responsibility, self-respect, and integrity.  But eleven women, in the heat of the moment, put hopefully great sex before their children’s future.  They decided to have a child by a man that can’t afford to be a great father, intellectually, physically or financially. 

I’m sure people might say, well maybe all of them didn’t know what they were getting themselves into.  Doubt it.  There are signs to what kind of a father a person is going to be before you get pregnant by them.   Let’s try these on for size:

• Is s/he currently employed?
• How is his relationship with his mother or father?
• What are his goals?
• And lastly…I could go on, but I’ll just do 4.  Does he have any other kids?  If so, does he take care of them?

And really that last bullet will tell it all.  But I always say, women think that their “stuff” is the “stuff” that’s going to whip their man into shape.  Get him to change.  Get him to stay.  Hate to tell you this ladies, but when you have a sorry man, your stuff CAN’T be all that.