Well well well

I had a decent day today. Went to a cookout at my mothers house and swam in the pool. When I left I noted that I had 4 conversations about my hair AND that I managed to be polite and not get irritated, though I didn’t really try to fake interest in the topic.

And then I went out and an old friend decided to ask about my hair and that took 5 minutes and as we parted, again he had to comment. I was reviewing the night for a totally different blog post and said HEY, that makes 5 conversations about my hair.

I don’t like to be churlish, I dont want to be rude or dismissive. But I do wish I knew how to politely convey to people that although they may only spend5 minutes asking me all about it, that I can and do have days where in the course of one 2 hour party I may have the same conversation with 5 or 6 people.

I told my best girlfriend the other day that I had a guy who wanted to date me but if he asked me to touch my hair I would scream. She laughed and said she would have a ball playing in my hair, but she understands that it is like when she was pregnant and strangers would touch her stomach- stay back.

Yeah, it is kinda like being pregnant, but permanently. Everywhere you go at least one person wants toask how far along you are, what you are having,what you want it to be, how many you already have etc and all you want to do is just pay the bills, pump gas, buy groceries and do what you need to do.

But I feel good, I didn’t let it bug me too much and let it roll off of me. Yay me!

Tired

I think it is time for a media blackout. Sheesh. Why do people even watch the news?

I’m retreating to my other blog for a few, see ya when I get back. In the meantime, go read Pooch Cafe, that shit is hilarious.

The rainbow aint enuff

I saw a comment that made me think someone felt I mentioned my struggles with my appearance too much, especially as it pertains to the reaction of men. Perhaps that was not the meaning of the comment, but I will address the issue as if it were. I do discuss this aspect of my life quite frequently in certain forums. I will continue to do so.

I told a friend last week that I hadnt been talking because I had run out of things to talk about, all I had were complaints and I am tired of complaining. He asked about my blog, I said- All i do there is complain too! We laughed.

It is a difficult subject for me, all of this is. I was brought up with the understanding that certain topics were taboo. All the while, since I can remember, my appearances has been a topic of much interest to strangers and acquaintances. When I had children it got worse, there were more of us to discuss.

I dislike being exoticized. It is difficult to convey the relentless nature of people’s comments and intrusiveness without giving examples, or simply saying, “It never ends”. If me telling about it is tedious, imagine what living it is like.

I always thought it would end.I thought it had ended decades ago. I was not prepared for this. I was sheltered from it, as I said it was a taboo topic. It was dealt with via denial and avoidance. And only recently, within the past 2 years, probably coinciding with my daughter reaching puberty, did I realize this is how it is and for ME, because of my age and the age of my peers, how it will be.

Racism affects us all in different ways. I cannot recall ever hearing a “typical” racial slur used against me. But for decades, on a daily basis I have dealt with people’s prying, staring. With inappropriate sexual remarks, with questions about voodoo and freakiness. With knowing jokes about rich men wanting me for a mistress, with mock envy that being so “exotic” I could find anyone to snap me up and take care of me. With strangers and even friends calling me not by name, but by terms used to refer to my phenotype.

The male attention is the worst, sometimes it is frightening. It has become depressing. In certain quarters, this appearance is the equivalent of having huge breasts or a really big ass. I could cover breasts and disguise an ass, you can go on a diet or get a breast reduction. But when the object of desire or of a fetish is your color, your hair, your facial features how can you hide?

Its not the big things, they can be ignored. Its the innumberable small things that drip drip drip and wear you down, erode your confidence, eat away at your privacy. The small unpredictable things that happen and catch you off guard, reminding you that having a moment of peace isnt likely.

In a way, it is like wealth. You have something other people want or admire, and after a while, and after being burned and hurt you try to remain on guard, hoping that this time it will be real. That this time its about you. This time there is no hidden agenda or hidden resentment or hidden fetish.

20 years ago if someone had told me this, I would have laughed. I would never have believed it could be this way. But I have learned. And it has taught me empathy. 2 of my closest friends and very tall very dark African American men. One of them says that though he does not get as many comments, he gets the looks, the stares. People following him in stores, cops looking at him funny, women making sly glances at his crotch, women crossing the street to avoid him when he is walking. And of course, there are the winks and jokes to female companions. The “I know why you are with HIM” insinuations. Being male and imposing probably makes people feel less comfortable with being openly inquisitive 0r rude than they are with me.

I am a woman and friendly and nonthreatening. People do not feel as compelled to remain silent, they arent afraid of me. And because most consider their interest or comments complimentary, it does not occur to them that if I were threatening, that uninvited comments would be unappreciated. Being aloof or hostile to prevent comments simply contribute to the belief that I am an uppity elitist bitch who thinks she is better than everyone else, which changes things. Instead of being pelted with silliness and intrusiveness, I deal with outright hostility.

I am by nature an introvert, bookish and serious.I learned to be exceedingly friendly because I was in danger of getting my ass kicked every day for about 4 years.I started school at 4 and wasnt a large child anyway, so I had to learn safety first rules. One of the first things I figured out was how to be self deprecating and immediately subordinate myself when in a situation where any hint of snotty stuckup bitchness would get my ass kicked. I learned by age 11 how to reject male advances without angering the guy. I learned to cut off my hair, to lower my face, to be as humble as possible.

I learned that many female friends did not want to hear it. Did not care. Had no sympathy.I learned that I was on my own.That expecting compassion was like a rich person expecting their starving friend to care about their problems with burglars and home invaders and the tax man. It was not that they didnt care about me, but that our problems were the opposite, that mine was an abundance of what they felt they lacked. And that even some who loved me, could not see my complaints as anything but a. ingratitude or b. a painful reminder of our relative positions on the social and sexual totem pole (no pun intended).

My father told me point blank- do not expect any sympathy all. They DO NOT CARE. From the POV of many people, you are to be envied and your desire for sympathy or understanding will be met with hostility.One of his brothers was killed, the other fled a segregated city and has remained distant for 40 years and by age 13 his mother had been tormented into a nervous breakdown. I am fortunate that he is around to tell me their stories, and we both despair together. He did not want this for me, as his parents did not want it for him and I did not want it for my girls.

I read books and blogs and more books and more blogs. I spoke privately to people I met online, and it helped. Not only was I not alone, but I want making it up. I heard from people who had to pull their daughters out of school and home school them, of people whose kids were bullied constantly. I heard from women who were just really really tired of it all. I learned that perhaps I can’t change the minds of people around me, but I can exist and speak and let others know that they are not imagining what is happening to them. I learned that even people who hold deep seated beliefs can sometimes be swayed by reading about the experiences of those not close to them, and learn to have empathy. I learned that some people realize that we are not each others enemies, but the flip side of the same coin and that the same forces- racism/colorism and sexism are hurting us all.

And I watched the Kama Sutra again, and I see a woman who simply because of how she looked inspired the envy and obsession of those around her. And I recognize the truth in that. I recognize that a person, no matter what attributes they have that others may envy or desire is still on the inside a human being who has feelings,who loves and wants to be loved. Not for being tall, not for having large breasts, not because they have a rich father and a trust fund. I look at Michael Jackson’s kids and read the chatter online,”People are only fighting over them because they are rich” and wonder how that makes the children feel, when it seems that society as a whole believes that the only reason someone would want them is money,not love.

How many people have said that about me- I only got that man or that job because of how I look. How many times have I doubted myself because of the skepticism I have been taught? How many times have I dismissed legitimate interest in me as a human being because I did not know how to be sure of the persons motives? Too many.

It disturbs and disgusts me to even have to discuss such things. How dare you put me on a pedestal as if I were an object and not a person. How dare YOU spend so much time trying to damage and deface me because you resent me having been placed there, I didn’t do it. How dare you put me in a situation where I feel I must constantly defend myself.How dare you make this issue so central to my life when it means nothing to me. How dare you, by forcing me to deal with you, make me have to be the one constantly discussing the issue. Now I’m the one who seems consumed by it, I’m the one who has to deal with it. Its not my damned issue, but Im having to handle it. Its not fair.

I’ve given up in real life. I dont mention things, I dont complain. I dont try to change it, I dont bother. I’m worn down, I’ve taken to my house and my computer. I choose peace, and the cost is high. It wasnt easy, but it was what everyone I know suggested- keep to yourself and be careful and enjoy those who you trust, to hell with the rest.

I dont think I have it the worst, racism is fucking with us all. Why should I be immune? But I have as much right as anyone else to discuss my life, my struggles, my challenges. I have as much right as anyone else to voice my pain, to be heard, to try to find a compassionate ear. I have as much right to complain and fight and try to make people aware as anyone else does.And so I do so, quietly, from the privacy of my own home.

Michael Jackson

I saw a snipped of him on the BET awards, I don’t watch tv and damn sure not BET, but I kinda wanted to see Janet talking about her brother, figured it would be touching. There was a pic of him and Janet as the intro to a slideshow of him through the years.

The audience cried. I was like, damn, look at him. YOu wouldn’t know it was the same person if the Mike of last week were near a pic of old Mike. I often play game with myself, when reading something he says or listening to an interview, I try to picture the Michael Jackson of the Off The Wall era. To remember who the person on the inside is.

Like the audience I was sad. As colored folk, there’s more than just the disgust and horror at what he did to himself. There is also a shared sense of sadness, of understanding. We havent all been fucked up to that extent, but few of us are unscathed.

Name 5 African American female stars who do not straighten their hair, who hasn’t had at least one nose or breast job? Almost all of us have felt the pressure to conform, felt ugly, felt too damn black.

When I see pics of the old Mike I just want to hug him, poor poor baby. We talk about self-hate. But when society teaches you to hate your appearance, when most of the world seems to think you are ugly, agreeing is NORMAL not an aberration. You are in step with everyone else.

What is noteworthy is that so many people manage to find beauty in themselves when it seems no one else does.

I suppose I am writing this out of sadnes for that poor boy. And because we should not look at this one extreme case and assign all the responsibility to Michael, he wasnt the problem but a symptom of a greater problem. All of us should look at ourselves and our children and realize they are not immune either. Maybe they dont have the means to change themselves, but that does not mean there is no inner loathing or despair.

links for 2009-06-23

• “Sí soy santero” – El Nuevo Día
  (tags: reggaeton tego santeria daddy-yankee puerto-rico)
• What Tami Said: The brown and the dead
  (tags: the_media racism death)

Keith Sweat

TOTAL change of pace. I have absolutely no idea what I read last night that made me think of old begging whining Keith, but something did.

Heh heh, I confess that I listend to this cd like a FIEND when I graduated from high school. All those long dark winter nights studying, looking out of my window at that lake effect snow were passed with the help of Keith Sweat. I never did have  a crush on him, but I loved the damn songs. And, funny how music and memory is, I havent heard most of these songs in 20 years but can sing them just like I last heard them yesterday.

OH MY WOW he cannot sing. In fact, I blame him for the demise of R&B, all of a sudden it was ok to not sing if your whine was good  and the song had a good  beat. Homey is BLEATING. Full Force said they selected Lisa Lisa to head her group because her voice was *ahem* not soo good, it was thin and easy for young girls to imitate. I think Keith Sweat’s popularity may be in part due to the ease with which the average nonsinging man can bleat out an approximation of one of his songs.

I am not hating,my sister and I bleated this one out my last summer at home, to the dismay of all within earshot.

“aauuhghhnnn baybahhhhhhh, give it me now gull”

I played Where In the World Is Carmen San Diego a lot while listening to this and to this day cannot separate this song from the game’s sound track and effects.

“all alone at night, just me and yewww….yeahhhhahahahh, uhhnnnnn, bbayyybbaayyyyy uuhhhhnnnn aawwww, baaayybaayy. uh, come on gull, come on bayabbbyyy. SAY YES!! OOHH YES! YES. YES YES YES YES YES!! “

This is the best NON singing ever. A friend of mine was working with [redacted] and she and her bf moved back down from [redacted] and we were in Unnamed City a lot. I didnt participate but I got a good view of folk having beef with [redacted]and them- industry rule 4080 . [redacted] and EVERYONE were whining and singing to a New Jack Beat. Those were the days, whining was an ART.

Sorry, I read what I wrote and realized that I may as well just post my damned birth certificate if I want to tell you who I am.

“TELL ME!! TELL ME BABY. You got to tell me! I wont you to tell me!! TELL ME GIRL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Please tell me, why dont you just tell me, you know I want it baybabbbyy ughnn give it to me now girll. Yeahhahahah I wanna make you sweatttt”

Ok, those arent the lyrics, but it was fun to put it together. I wallowed in bed listening to this a LOT.

All.Night.Long.

ooooooooh

aahh

oooh oooh ahhh

Sucker. Stone. Cold. Sucka

Interracial Dating and Crossing the Color Line

Im determined here to be honest, conflicted, but honest. So I will add another POV to the problem POC have with interracial dating.

I have a friend, she is “biracial”, one parent is from the Caribbean one from an island in Europe. The Caribbean parent is, btw, not “black”. She is, AFAIK,cool with who she is. She is fairly educated and assimilated. She, after many years alone, married a man from an area near where her father is from. They have a child now, a newborn, who has a name that reflects the ancestry of her father and grandfather.

My gut reaction AFTER the awwsss is to feel abandoned. She picked the wrong side. Now what? Fuck.

The emotion behind a lot of the anger and the resentment is often simply a feeling of loss and sadness. Evenw hen you know and are certain the reasons had nothing to do with anger, hatred or racism, you kinda want to get mad and throw a rock and scream TRAITOR. The same irrational anger people have toward those who have died and left them behind. You KNOW it wasnt intentional, but still.

When my stepson dated a BLACK girl after dating the white/Native American one, my husband and I were secretly pleased. When my stepdaughter had her child with the BLACK guy (Im not sure of ethnicity or  nationality) I smiled. Thanks, we thought, for picking this side. The same side I picked, the side your mother picked.

In my family, and many others, the taboo against dating white is so strong because we are one white spouse away from the other side of the color line. We have had 3 white skinned blonde babies whose other parent was DARK and black. Hell, on the other side, we have tons of them who are redheaded, freckled and blue eyed. And of these, some have some BLACK parents.

The Americas are still pretty socially segregated. The USA very much so. Socially, you get to pick a side- white mainstream America or OTHER. My uncle, he went poof. I have cousins who went poof. My stepbrothers? Poof. My husbands friends who married white American women? Poof.

Sometimes we just don’t want people to disappear, we don’t want our nieces and nephews and cousins and grandkids to totally travel in different circles, to live separate lives, to not be near us. A lot of the colored female vehemence is because some of us know that we run a very real risk of having our families split apart. Of having grandkids who do not know each other or cannot relate to one another. Of being the grandma in the backroom that no one mentions, the one whose picture one day gets taken off the wall and put in a drawer because its easier. We realize our best friends kids and ours will not grow up to be bosom buddies.

Its not hatred, but a desperate desire to hold on.

So we were happy when my stepson had a black girlfriend, it meant my husband may not suffer the fate of my stepfather- to have his kids go poof and no dealings with his grandkids. (His son’s first child is being raised by her mother and Mexican stepfather and we doubt she will ever know she is either Puerto Rican or Black. And she can identify as she wishes, but no one wants to be the secret father or grandfather that is denied) We felt the same when the girl had her son, someone who looked like grandpa.

Not everyone can choose, choose their race, choose the race of their children. For those of us who can, the decision to marry has extra significance. The choice of a partner isn’t only that, but also the choice of race for your offspring. And the thought of losing your kids is enough to make people panic and it does inspire anger and hatred, it can cause a person to have very negative views on dating white people.

The irony, of course, is that this friend I met when we were both members of an entirely white (except for me and maybe her) group. So the whole- we cant hang now thing doesnt really apply, I havent lost her. Hell, I guess Im right there lost with her! Both of us with grandmothers in mourning.

(I have NEVER heard my mother say anything negative about darker skin till one day 2 summers ago. She held my daughter and my nephew in her arms and said,”I guess I look like a tar baby next to you”. I’m sure having 3 pale kids and only one brown one caused her many years of worrying that one day we would all disappear. As a child it never occured to me, but as an adult I did become aware of that aspect of her anti-dating white people attitude. My grandmother had a ton of friends whose grandkids went *poof*.)

A brief note-

Eyes are calibrated differently. I see Anatole Broyard,Khrystele and other people as being afro-descended.

links for 2009-06-16

• White male seeking sexy Asian women
  (tags: asian racism fetish sexuality)

Gratitude

I am, as is evident, cranky. I am tired and I need my vacation and NOW. I write and design and create for a living, but my work area isn’t quiet enough and the constant interruptions bug me. I’ve got a bit of sensory overload.

And I did have the decency to feel churlish complaining about my job being noisy and my desk not being secluded enough, considering how things are it could be way worse. Oh, it could be  better. I am overwork and WAY WAY underpaid.

And I read this, and its so evocative and touching and I’m like, wow. And I thought I was cranky and full of despair.

Hard to feel too miserable when you’re plotting your vacation to Puerto Rico, even if you cant manage to get ANYONE to take the 5 year old just so you can PLEASE GOD PLEASE get 2 entire days alone AND out of town. And someone, will ya pick her up from school?

Hell yeah, I need more vacation time, more child free time. I need to not have to spend big bucks or ANY bucks on private school and dont wanna have to sell stock to go to FL, since I figure Imma have to travel with kids (and dogs) to Florida and back and pretend its Puerto Rico. And shit, brake pads AND a new instrument panel? *sigh*

But, at least I can even consider a trip or vacation and at least I got a job to hate and a car to pour dollar after dollar into.

Small Blog World

The blog world is remarkably small, or so it seems to me. While randomly searching things, I check the blogrolls and I often find that 2 blog buddies of mine who I didnt realize were connected, are. And of course in some circles I see the same blogs listed over and over again.

Today, quite by accident, I was googling something and found my cousin’s blog on a blogroll. Interesting because she is a distant cousin and I only “met” her a year ago. (I havent met her yet, but we email). Yet there she was, running in the same circles and I had no clue.Kinda cool that we have blog friends in common.