Keep Your Eyes on the Prize

The alarm goes off at 5 a.m. “Fcuk,” I say aloud. This is real. It is really inauguration day. And we are really going to brave the traffic, the cold and the crowds, to witness history, our country’s first African American President. I get up from the couch as the house is packed, filled with Courvoisier, Amaretto, my two cousins, my brother, my aunt and my parents. My mom is in the kitchen cooking us a country breakfast of grits and eggs, cheering us on, we who are part of the Joshua generation. Everyone is getting ready, bundling up, putting toe warmers in shoes, sweatpants on top of leggins, two sets of gloves. It is not a game. This is not the day to try and look cute. And no one does.

We leave the house at 6 a.m., before the sun is out, when the streets are eerily still. We head to Georgia Avenue to catch the 70 bus which if you anything about the uurea, is a notorious bus route in the city. I lead the freedom songs. Well the one thing we did right was the day we started to fight. Keep your eyes on the prize. Hold on, hold on. We hop on the bus and away we go, to watch history! As the bus travels and we pick up passengers who are just as excited about this day, it starts to sink in. It.is.gonna.be.fcukin.cold. Oh and we’re gonna witness history!

The bus finally reaches downtown. We head down 7th Street, ready to keep on walking towards the Mall. And then we see it. A closed gate. And a big ass crowd who is chanting. Singing. Not moving. This can’t be life. We walk on over to 12th Street. Same damn thing. My brother bogards his way close to the front. And we stand. And we wait. And we stand. And wait. We learn that the gate is supposed to open at 7:30 a.m., but the generators for the metal detectors are out. Of course. And then we learn that there are only five, count them FIVE metal detectors for all these damn people. So we stand and we wait for hours and hours.

We make “friends” with the people around us. Some guys drove 16 hours from Florida, had no hotel room, came specifically for the swearing-in and were gonna drive back home. We get squished and pushed and groped and separated from my brother and cousins. They get through the gates. And we stand longingly outside them with the rest of the crowd that is quickly growing and moving up the block. Never in my life had I been surrounded by that many people. It was a feeling beyond words, to be around people of all ages, colors, creeds. All there for a common purpose, to share this moment together. And if you have to use adjectives to describe, the best I can do is that... It was breathtaking. Amazing. Simply incredible. And unforgettable.

And then it happened. We got right up to the gate and the police officer says, “we’re gonna close this gate for awhile. And when we open it back up, you can’t go to the Mall. This will be for the parade route only.” What the hell? So how do we get to the Mall? “You’ll have to walk around the White House,” he says. It seems like a riddle. Or a cruel joke. It’s 11 a.m. How will we ever make it in time?

We leave the crowd and duck into a café to regroup. Courvosier and Amaretto seemed discouraged. And on top of all that Courovisier can’t feel her toes. And she can’t lose her toes. Time is ticking. “We have to keep going,” I say. “We have to find an alternative route. We can do it. We’ve come this far. We have to see this happen!” I couldn’t believe I was saying these words, me, one who was never ride or die for Obama, had no intention of even going to the Mall until the night before, was now pushing the team to keep their eyes on the prize. Hold on. Cause when it came down to it, I was no fool. This was what my people died for. Fought for. Prayed without ceasing for. We look at each other, take a collective sigh, and head up 12th Street, away from the Mall, to go around the White House. Could we make it? Did we make it? Find out on Monday!

That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!

the new cliff and claire

seems like this week has been comprised of simple words and breathtaking images. it's official, yes we did! black love reigns supreme. on the world stage for all to see. a larger audience than the Cos could have ever imagined for his images of a positive and healthy black family.
so today, with few words and lovely photos,
celebrate black love...obama style!

It's official!!!

what else is left to say...


cheers,


Bellini

There's Something About This Moment

At the time that I am writing this, I am debating about braving both the cold and the crowds to go downtown to watch a moment in history that few would have believed was possible even a mere decade ago. I will admit that I wasn’t a believer. Who was this dude from Chicago? When others said “Yes We Can” I wondered if they still lived in the America that I lived in. The America that allowed us to be lynched, the one where Emmitt Till was brutally murdered, the country that still enslaved us as sharecroppers, in it's factories and as surrogate mommas to it's children. But it seems that this country was ready for something different, finally. Mr. Obama was the right person at the right moment. Yet, I am curious about what will be written on the next pages of history after this day. Mr. Obama is just a man who has a formidable task ahead. I pray that the American public gives him a realistic chance. He doesn’t have a magic wand that will make it all better. He doesn't have the ability to make everyone happy. But he does speak of hope that people can believe in. And after the years that we’ve had, so many people are finally hopeful and it’s a great thing to witness. There is something about this moment ya’ll. What do we do now that our hopes and prayers birthed a dream realized?




I guess just stand back in amazed disbelief...

See You In Seven

Do Good Today Folks!

Friends of mine always remind me that today, if you are off should be one of service. Do good today folks! I would like both Martin and Coretta to be proud and excited for tomorrow, as they look down upon us.

Much luv until next week...peace and much service :)

Walk Like a Man?

So I attend the school of thought that Tyler Perry and John Legend (to name a few), despite their best efforts to prove otherwise, are gay. Of course I could be wrong. But for the sake of argument, let’s say that I could, possibly be right. Why do I think these things?

1. Way back when John Legend first came out (ha ha – no pun intended), a few of us girlfriends attended his concert in D.C. And let me tell y’all that place was full of gay men. I mean they came in droves! Droves! Now this was when Holla, Holla, Holla aka Used to Love Her had gotten some air play and Ordinary People was sounding cute and fuzzy and not what it eventually became – annoying. So people knew who he was, but they ain’t really know who he was. Anyway. Back to my point. The children had come out, for what I always thought, was to support one of their own. Cause you know they can tell their own. I mean they were rolling deep. Now I know it’s common to see gay Black men in groups in Metropolitan cities, particularly in Lenox Mall on a Saturday afternoon in ATL, but this was something unprecedented-the crowd ranged from the flaming, two snaps and a circle to the ones you would never have suspected. Until you saw him next to his "friend" who had on some skinny jeans and smedium t-shirt.

2. There is a scene in Why Did I Get Married when Tyler Perry switches his hips up the stairs. Get the movie. Check for it. You can't miss it. Pause it. And watch it in slow motion. And then laugh.

3. Tyler Perry is (again) on the cover of Essence Magazine and the caption says something about finding Mrs. Right. So, I say to my granny the other night, “how come we have to keep hearing about Tyler Perry looking for Mrs. Right? Anytime you have to put it out there so much, and emphasize the fact that your search for Mrs. Right is soo difficult because of your schedule, you make too much money, you want a real down home woman who reminds you of your mama but looks like a model, can fry fish with one hand behind her back, has got her own thing, doesn't want you for your money, yada, yada, yada, you are gay. Cause you know who else used to do that? Luther Vandross!” Oh my granny busted out laughing and said, “you true, you true.” Let me tell y’all I remember an Oprah Winfrey episode where Luther showed his house, his furniture, his fancy china that he used to eat grits. And at the end of the segment, he said, “Oprah now all I need is a woman to share this with!!” Snaps. And laughter from my 11-year-old belly. Even at my young age I knew there was something wrong with that statement.

And yet what if Tyler Perry and John Legend are not gay? What if they just don’t fit into the stereotypical ideals of [straight] manhood? I mean John Legend is an Ivy League grad, mayhap he is just well read and soft spoken. And Tyler Perry could just be a Southern boy, raised by Ma'dear and his aunties. And we all remember Kanye West's comment about him being called a sissy because he had taken on his mama's aka feminine ways 'cause that's all he knew...

So what am I looking for a man who has his backhand up ready to prove he can smack a b***h? That's not what I was raised around. I should know better. In my own life, I have had men accuse men close to me of being gay because they seem “soft” or “gentle” or not hard core. I even know a woman who told me girls continually told her son in high school, “I don’t want to go out with you. You’re too nice. You won’t try anything with me.” Hmmm… I would be remissed if I didn't mention the man I saw on Bringing Home Baby the other day: jerry curlish (I'm thinking dyed) auburnish/blondish hair, had that lilt in his voice, and a flick in his wrist, but was bringing home his seventh child. Now in my eyes he was clearly gay. But in the eyes of the at least three women he had laid down with, he was what?

In these ever changing times where the lines of race, gender, sexual orientation are blurred and fuzzy, what is the measure of a [straight] man? How do we define manhood in an age when so many Black men weren't raised by their fathers and may not have the stereotypical male mannerisms? Are women passing up potentially good men, because their girlfriends are buzzing in their ears, saying "that man has some suga in his tea?" I mean if a John Legend or Tyler Perry type approached me, with all the right credentials, great personality, and nothing but love and adoration for Rum Punch would I dismiss him completely because of my own ideas of manhood vs. mannerisms, homosexuality vs. heterosexuality, stereotypes vs. reality? I wonder...

That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!

P.S. If you’re going to be in the D.C. area for MLK Day on Jan. 19, head over to Peoples Congregational United Church of Christ at 4704 13th Street, NW for the best MLK Program ever! The program starts at 12 p.m. and will feature acts from around the world! A red carpet pre-inaugural party will follow! You don't wanna miss it!

hope on dope

about a month ago, i pondered the effect/affect that Barack Obama would have on the average ambitious young Black man as it relates to his relationship picks. i hoped that YBM would start looking for their own personal michelle's and stop defaulting to the brain dead eye candy. now it seems that the Obama has effect has spread to local politics in some interesting ways. how so?

well, during the election season, it was not uncommon for local, state and national politicians, both democrats and republicans, to co-opt the changey mchoperson message that made Obama so popular. and some of that was to be expected, right? during any presidential election year, the candidates down the ticket will often ride the coattails of the nominated commander-in-chief-to-be, in the hopes that all levels of government will reflect the values and ideals of the man on top.

but the thing i've found most interesting is that the Obama juice continues to flow, even now after the election season has been put to bed and the next major round of races aren't set until 2010. for example, last night i attended a meet and greet for a friend of mine who is contemplating a run for mayor of new orleans. it was a small gathering of 30 to 40 people, primarily between the ages of 20 and 40, with almost every ethnicity represented. while i think my friend is passionate about what he does in his field, i didn't necessarily think of him as the mayor of nola before last night especially given the nature of politics in this city. but at the event, it was as if Obama himself came down from on high and anointed my friend to run this race...seriously.

the woman who opened for him began her spiel by invoking Obama in all his glory, the idea that while Obama has reached the ultimate height, we, the masses, can not sit ideally by and let him do all the work. no! we must take to the streets and start the revolution. or not. more like we each should become involved in the political process in our own corners of the world. the urgency of now demands it!

and as i stood there caught up in the rapture of her words i had to pinch myself. this hope shit is contagious. addictive even. almost cultish. and my friend had not even uttered a word yet. afterwards, i watched as a woman came up to him and told him how inspired she was to have heard his words. and how excited she was that he was running for mayor. and i thought to myself, wow. really!?! ok! i've known him for a little minute so it's weird to see him make this transition from do-gooder to politician do-gooder (oxymoron maybe?) Obama certainly made us all believe it could be done. with his hope and si se puede...

the full ramifications remain to be seen but its clear that Obama has inspired a generation of folks who previously toiled for justice outside of government to contemplate infiltrating the machine and working for change from within. i guess they've got it...a more potent grade of hope than i've ever seen before.

what say you?