Yes We Did

When I was a little girl growing up in Cincinnati, Ohio, every Sunday my mother would transform me from an ashy-legged, nappy-headed tomboy into a Sunday morning debutante. She’d press and curl my hair, dress me up in the obligatory uniform—starched dress, anklets and black patent leather Mary Jane shoes so I could watch history unfold while sitting in the pews of the Mt. Zion Baptist Church.

The man who had a dream was a frequent visitor as were Fannie Lou Hamer, Andrew Young, Fred Shuttlesworth and other icons of the Civil Rights era. On Tuesday, in the hours preceding what is probably this nation’s most defining moment, I thought a lot about them, along with my wheelchair-bound 93-year-old dad who has voted in 18 presidential elections dating back to Franklin D. Roosevelt and couldn’t wait to get to the polls to cast his vote for a man who really wasn’t supposed to be on the ballot.

As a child I couldn’t really grasp the importance of that parade. I knew they were special people because whenever they’d stop by to tell us that we were on the verge of overcoming, we’d have a few nervous white (reporters) visitors, too, lining the back wall. I had no way of knowing, however, that those journeymen would be part of the relay team handing off the baton to Barack Hussein Obama.

As an adult the importance of this moment in time is not lost on me. I get it. Yet, several hours after Obama was elected to become the 44th President of our diverse and complex nation, it still hasn’t sunk in.

It’s not that I’m surprised, I’m not. I’ve been predicting an Obama victory for more than a year. It’s just that after bearing witness to the struggle for so many years Obama’s victory is something that must be realized in every fiber of my being.

Right now it’s just a little difficult to comprehend this reality because in America sometimes it’s hard to believe what you see. It’s like a wow, wow, wow moment that has yet to resonate.

A true African American has become the first President of color in the United States.

For those of us in my generation Tuesday night was the culmination of centuries of opportunities deferred. After watching Obama stroll on stage with his family to make his acceptance speech at Chicago’s Grant Park, I had to wonder if the Middle Passage, the habitual exclusion, the abject discrimination, the dogs, the fire hoses, the bombs, the horrific lynchings, the loud cries and the silent tears were all worth it.

Was that what it took to get to this point?

I’m not sure because those were ungodly acts orchestrated by ungodly people. Evil, as those who experienced the horrors of the Holocaust know all too well, does not discriminate. But here’s one thing I’ve learned about being black in America. We have a natural resolve. Despite everything that has happened to us since arriving on these shores, we still smile.

And the one thing that all of those years in Sunday school taught me was that sometimes God takes you through some storms so that you can truly appreciate the sunny days.

Tuesday was a very sunny day.

On Tuesday night America, a nation of immigrants, elected one of its own to unite it so that this country, which has yet to achieve its true greatness, could perhaps rise above the internal battles that have been raging here for the past 221 years.

Yes, those of us who cheered Obama’s victory last night can see brighter days ahead but it would be foolish of me to suggest that just because a black man will occupy the White House in January that those who harbor hate in their hearts will immediately embrace those who don’t look like them. Or that the economy will bounce back by Jan. 20, and the war in Iraq will be over by Valentine’s Day.

Not going to happen.

What Obama will do, however, is challenge the way people think. He represents change, hope and progress. He will inspire all of those who dare to dream and draw upon those who died while trying.

After hearing his acceptance speech tonight I’m pretty sure that Obama knows why he’s here and what it is he has to do. He said he needs our help and he surely does. In this new America we are the bricks and he is the newly appointed bricklayer. The America that Obama is inheriting is a troubled nation that seems more intent on being politically correct than just simply correct.

Brother Barack has some serious mountains to climb.

But you know what? I have a feeling that he’s going to find a way to get over—just like the others who ran the good race before him on Sunday morning.

the view from the couch

honestly, the week that was kind of wore me out.

it wasn't because i was abnormally busy because i wasn't. it was just that most days i couldn't get up off the couch because i was so mentally exhausted. so, when i had to write stories on deadline, i wrote them in a slumped position on the couch with my laptop, uh, on my lap, and with my feet up on my teak coffee table. when i had to edit video, ditto. when i had to deal with my dad's doctors and caregivers, i sat up, put my feet on the hardwood floor, held the phone in one hand and my head in the other. and when it was time to eat, i pushed my computer to the left and repositioned my masai coffee table book to make room for the tray with my homemade vegetable soup and pita samwich.

i know, it sounds kind of pitiful, but it really wasn't. i was surrounded by my books, my cds, photos of friends and family, my masks, my art in a room awash with sunshine. it made me feel kind of warm and fuzzy in a one-flew-over-the-cuckoo's-nest-kind-of-way.



one day i watched three un-riveting hours of a pbs documentary on the royal family--because i had to--and then another six hours of cnn while my musician neighbor downstairs banged away on his drums. on another day i took a short nap, waking up just in time for "gossip girl," which has quickly become more than just the gulity pleasure it used to be.

when friends rang, i'd sometimes get a little animated and start pacing around the couch. at least i got up!

and on the day he rang--surprise, surprise--i got up--again--grabbed a bottle of wine out of the cooler, sat back down, put my feet back on the table, giggled and joked my way through a 40-minute conversation and then went back surfing the web for plane tickets to london.

ok, i did have fleeting thoughts of going on sabbatical (from the couch), hopping in the saab and heading north on the 5. but that would mean i would be without a couch for at least five hours.

i knew i couldn't deal with the separation anxiety in my fragile state.

then there was the day a friend from cincinnati rang and said she was in san francisco. that news caused me to jump up from the couch because i realized that i was supposed to be in SF, too. not to see her--i had no idea she'd be there--but to attend the "milk" premiere in the castro.

alas, since the film was starting in two hours there was really nothing i could do. i began pacing again, but was lured back to the couch by the couch.

"miki," the couch said. "come back. i am here for you. there's no need to worry about all those 'senior moments' you've been having lately. your career will survive. come. lay down. relax. have more soup. watch 'krazee eyz killah' for the 35th time. baby steps."

yes, i was indeed the prototype for the couch potato this week. but considering that i had day-long headaches nearly every day the week before, it was time well wasted.

i'll do the laundry next week.

boolshyt!!

my sister-gurl charlene sent me this strip today and it literally brought tears to my eyz! click on the strip to make it bigger. laughter is so good for the soul!

lottie & lucille

i was walking around my neighborhood today trying to shake off the remains of a sunny, but blue monday when i was suddenly touched by an angel.

make that two.



i was 5 years old when judy garland and barbra streisand sang this melody on garland's old cbs variety show. i don't remember if i actually saw the show that night but i have always loved this collaboration.

garland and streisand, however, are not the angels i was referring to. that distinction belongs to two very special women who helped mold me professionally and personally.

lottie knight was my former hampton institute professor and mentor who passed away two years ago this fall. i never made a career move without consulting her. lucille deview was my former writing coach who would always take my good copy and make it great. she died just two weeks before mrs. knight.

losing them in such close succession was extremely jarring but oddly inspiring.

still is.

they never met and that's really a shame. mrs. knight was all pepper while lucille, who was about 10 years older, was the salt of this earth when she was still breathing. had their paths ever crossed they would have had some amazing conversations about life, craft, politics and perhaps, me.

maybe they're doing that right now.

maybe that's why i thought of them today when i heard these lyrics.

the sun is shining c'mon get happy
the lord is waiting to take your hand
shout hallelujah c'mon get happy
we're gonna be going to the promised land

thank you ladies. rest in peace. the meaning of your lives is still unfolding in me.

today

today i realized my dad's dementia had gotten worse.
today jennifer hudson learned that her mother and brother had been murdered and that her 7-year-old nephew was missing.
today i consoled my dear friend whose older brother was found dead on sunday at his home in new jersey.
today i apologized to the same friend for not getting her gift basket off in time because apparently you can't ship wine to maryland.
today i told my hampton classmates that i probably wouldn't be making it to homecoming despite my best efforts.
today i stayed in bed hoping to shake this cold or whatever it is.
today i spoke to a friend who was administering pain meds to her husband with inoperable cancer.
today i wrote two meaningless stories on the stars of "zack and miri make a porno."
today i woke up with a sinus headache at 4:50 a.m.
today i told a total stranger i would critique their clips because i'm a maynard baby and we must always pay it forward.
today i had vegetarian orange chicken and vegetarian tom yum soup delivered from bulan thai.
today i spilled chocolate syrup on my "sex and the city" nightshirt and never bothered to change it.
today a family member got on my last nerve.
today i listened intently while a dear friend shared the milder details of a recent sexual encounter.
today the man whose radio show i did yesterday called to thank me for coming on.
today i was challenged, but less stressed than i had been all week.
today i realized yet again that one should never put their faith in man because man will disappoint you each and every time.
and today i feel blessed that i can now lay myself down to sleep, thanking god for today and tomorrow--for the good times and bad.

bye-bye levi

i'm not going to lie. when it comes to '60s boy bands i am all about the temps. back in the day i was totally mesmerized by the late paul williams. his voice was so smooth, so haunting--particularly when he performed "for once in my life" on that "tcb" tv special featuring the temps and diana ross & the supremes. that boy felt every lyric of that song.

and he was fine.

but i also loved levi stubbs, who passed today at age 72. paul died young when i was just a kid. i grew old, however, with my other crush, the lead singer of the four tops. i loved levi's vocals on "reach out (i'll be there)." remember that as the closing theme in "cooley high?"

decisions, decisions

why is it that sometimes you get really freaked out when your prayers are answered? maybe that's why the old-er folks always say "careful what you pray for." 

change, albeit both refreshing and challenging, is something that you can never really willingly accept as its happening in any form--spiritual, physical, geographical.

i bet most babies would prefer to remain toothless; that some inmates have separation anxiety when they are finally released; that a lot of kids who can't wait to leave home miss it more than they thought they would and that 90-year-old parents would be much happier if their conflicted 50-year-old kids didn't have to make decisions for them.

i know i would.

i've been through a lot of changes in the last 12 days i've spent on the road. i've struggled to find common ground with those who share my DNA and those who don't. i've witnessed old parents get even older. i was mildly amused when a woman at a thai restaurant in upper manhattan insisted that i was whoopi goldberg even after i repeatedly told her i was not. i was absolutely stunned when my favorite cousin--who owns a porsche convertible--picked me up from the bus station in philly in a mini van with her two kids in tow. and i was often at odds with myself because i couldn't answer any of my own "whys?"

now as i lie here in bed in my flannel jammies waiting for the nyquil to kick in so that i can breathe again, i'm oddly looking forward to the bumps in the road that will undoubtedly trip me up in the coming days, weeks and months. sure, i can't afford to make a wrong turn at this point in time, but even if i do--again--it's oddly reassuring to know that there's some billionaire hedge fund dude in greenwich, conn. who is trying to make sense of it all, too.