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It Hurts When It Is One of Your Own
Very Smart Brothas
My parents divorced in the ’90s when I was relatively young, so memories of my mom, dad and siblings under one roof are few and far between. One vivid memory is clear: me, my sister and my parents piled into their bed watching The Cosby Show every Thursday night at eight. In our religiously conservative home, there were few pop cultural phenomena my sister and I could be a part of, but the respectable, family-friendly The Cosby Show made the cut…
How California Taught Me the Truth About Racism in the South
Queen City Nerve
We are more than flavorful gumbo, twinkling fireflies, and famously warm hospitality. We are a place that, like the rest of the country, once hosted the unspeakable horrors of our country’s original sin and every day grapples with that, making the sweetest lemonade you ever tasted with the descendants of those victims continuing to invest in the place their forefathers built.
More than any other part of the country, the South is a second ancestral home for much of Black America, and when you hate or dismiss her, you hate and dismiss us too.
Butter Pecan
Scary Mommy
When I think of Black motherhood, I think of pecans.
This simple fruit masquerading as a nut evokes many of my favorite memories as one of the South’s little Black girls.
The picture is fuzzy, but I recall sitting with a stainless-steel bowl between my legs on my grandmother’s front porch using pliers — which felt like a very grownup tool –- to shell pecans. My mother’s mother, Grandma Vernell — mother to eleven children in rural, upstate South Carolina — knew what an antsy, people-pleasing eight-year-old could handle. We’d sit side by side, watching cars whiz by as she spoke to me like we were old friends, the air punctured by the surgical crack of a pecan’s husk…
Pro-Life and the Real Dangers Facing Black Women
Q City metro
About a year ago, while discussing the issue of abortion with a White, conservative Christian colleague and friend, he said, “I don’t understand how Black people can support Planned Parenthood when the founder was so racist.”
We were standing in uptown Charlotte, a few feet from Stonewall Street, a street named for a Confederate general who viciously assaulted the Union in the Civil War. I couldn’t help but laugh. A few miles away stands the Morrison Regional Library, named for a White supremacist who was part of a group of North Carolinians that burned down Black businesses and killed at least dozens of Black citizens.
CLT’s Moderate Mayor & Her Progressive Daughter
Charlotte Axios
When I told my mother I would be talking to the mayor, she said, “I know she goes by Vi, but make sure you address her as Mayor Lyles. Be respectful.”
A few hours later, I dialed Mayor Lyles’ number.
“This is Vi!” she answered.
There I was, stuck between the respectful Southern formalities my mother recommended and a warm invitation to a familiar nickname. I attempted to strike a balance.
“Hi Mayor Vi, thanks much for taking my call.”
Why I Chose “Working Mom”
Iridescent Women
As my maternity leave came to a close, I felt an anxiety I’d never felt before. I hadn’t spent more than a few hours away from my son and the thought of handing him over to anyone - even a family member, close friend or trained professional seemed like a ridiculously dangerous idea. Who could replace me for eight hours or so and who could possibly pick up on all the little details that one only learns with time? Who would know to distract him with the ceiling fan on a medium setting while changing his diaper to keep him from squirming?
The “Unprepared” HBCU Graduate
Blavity
More predictable than raisins in Karen’s potato salad is the HBCU vs. PWI debate after any major HBCU-related news. In the past few weeks, we’ve seen Black-ish’s awkward HBCU vs. PWI episode and, most recently, Beyoncé’s two hour infomercial for an HBCU experience. These times are no different. As an Army brat who has lived in every kind of demographic configuration and both a PWI and HBCU grad, I humbly believe that I am uniquely qualified to speak on the merits of either, more so than the average person.
But I won’t do it. Here’s why:
Removing Monuments Isn’t Erasing History
Relevant Magazine
Several years ago, in one of D.C.’s largest suburbs in Arlington, Virginia, I came home to the cheerful apartment I shared with two fellow Southern women and I was surprised to see a new book positioned carefully with pride on our coffee table. I sat on the couch, leaned a bit closer and realized I was looking at a biography of Robert E. Lee, the Commander in Chief of the Confederate Army. I instantly recalled the photo one of my roommates had shared on Facebook of her parents dressed in Confederate uniforms for a Halloween party and knew this wasn’t a joke. I knew that a hard conversation, one I’d had before with others, was just around the corner.
Ayesha Curry Said What Many Moms Feel
Very Smart Brothas | The Root
For most of my adult life, I’ve been the kind of slim that inspired a stranger to tell me “If you could just eat a pork chop sandwich, you’d be alright!” In the fall of 2017, when my husband and I learned I was pregnant, I figured this baby would be that sandwich—but not anything more than that.
Nevertheless, during the first two trimesters or so, I snapped on anyone who attempted to tell me that I would likely “snap back” right after birth. “Don’t put that pressure on me; snapback culture is made up by Instagram anyway.”