TEACHING AN OLD DOG A NEW TRICK

I’m finally taking swimming lessons this summer. For years, I would have told you I could swim. After all, I swam as a kid. During the summers, I would walk with my sister and some of the kids in my neighborhood to Roosevelt Park and go swimming. As a child, I never took swimming lessons; I just jumped into the pool. I swam in the pool's deep end and didn’t give it a second thought.

Now, in my sixties, I’m afraid to lie backward and float in four feet of water. OMG…don’t even think about floating facing the water. I must remind myself not to panic when floating because all I have to do is stand up!

Learning how to swim in my sixties will be a slow process because that fearlessness of youth is long gone. It has been replaced with an irrational fear I’m determined to conquer.

In these last dog days of summer, this old lady will be splashing around in four feet of water, trying to suppress my fear of drowning in water that I only need to stand up in to be safe.

At this time in my life, I’m determined to do everything I want to do while I still can. No, I will not be jumping out of planes, ziplining, or climbing cliffs, but I will do the things that I once enjoyed. Teaching an old dog a new trick may not be easy, but it isn’t impossible.

THAT WOMAN IN THE MIRROR

When I stop and really look at myself in the mirror, I barely recognize myself. Gone is the young woman who laughed so loud and hard that the people around her had to laugh, too. That carefree girl always humming, singing, or making a happy sound is gone. Her leaving was a combination of little hurts and disappointments until the catastrophic passing of my mother. My mother’s passing almost broke me, and for years, there was little joy in my life. Now, a permanent sadness resides in the depths of my eyes. Lips that were once quick to smile now rest downward, only turning upward with effort. Lines are etched on my face where worry, anger, pain, and fear have left their mark. The hair, which I was always trying to tame, is almost a memory. The simplicity of my childhood is a cherished recollection that I’m so thankful to have had, but it has been replaced with the harsh reality of life.

I’m sure I’m not the only one physically changed by difficult situations or circumstances. Looking in mirrors may not be as pleasant as it once was, but I encourage you to stop and take a long, hard look at yourself. You may be shocked, saddened, or surprised at who you see staring back at you.

I see my mother looking back at me, and because I can see my mother, I’m sure parts of her mother and her mother’s mother are peering back at me. I see a girl who grew up into a young woman who loved a man who broke her heart and later helped her put the pieces back together. I see a Black single mother who refused to fit into the stereotypical role that society thought she had consigned herself and her child to. I see a woman who purchased her first house before she was thirty. I see a woman who didn’t see herself as beautiful for far too long. I see a woman who would have given up if it wasn’t God. I see a woman whose broken pieces were put back together, and every line on her face proves she weathered the storm.

I would love to know who you see looking back at you in the mirror!

IF WE LOVE US...WE NEED TO TELL EACH OTHER THE TRUTH

Essence 2024 was a trip, both good and bad. It was wonderful seeing so many Black people together enjoying themselves. Most of the people you passed in the street would smile, speak, or acknowledge your presence in some way, although others held their noses high in the air and diverted their eyes as they glided by. This was my first time at the Essence Festival, and getting into the convention center felt a bit chaotic. The young woman at the door helped me to download my admission ticket, and once inside, there was no map or schedule of events that I saw, so I followed the herd and stood in line to receive free bags and products. After an hour or so, I left the convention center, never to return. I admit that I did not check the Essence website for a schedule because when I did so weeks earlier, the site was not updated. I mistakenly thought a schedule would be available on-site. 

However, my trip to New Orleans was full of tours and things I had not been able to do on prior trips.  But, back to the Essence Festival. I had tickets for all three nights of the concert. The first night was a celebration of Hip Hop, which I missed because of the storm that rolled through the city that night. I attended the other two nights. I cannot speak on the Hip Hop night other than to say that Hip Hop as it stands today is not a cultural representation of African Americans. The tradition of traveling storytellers, poets, and musicians of the griots from which hip hop derived has long been corrupted. Most commercially successful hip-hop artists portray Blacks as sexually promiscuous and materialistic. Hip-hop has become a one-dimensional art form with predictable messaging that has young women walking around with half their ass-cheeks hanging out as they imitate female recording artists. While our young men are willing to rob, kill, and throw away their lives in pursuit of an unrealistic lifestyle depicted in ridiculous videos.

Essence’s motto for 2024 was “We Love Us.”  So, in that spirit, and because I love us enough to tell us the truth, we have to open our eyes to the truth. Record Producers, Social Media, Mainstream Media, Publishing Industries, etc., should not be the ones telling us what our culture is. Essence, please be mindful of the artists you book and ensure they align with your messaging of “We Love Us.” Victoria Monet sang about “Licking a D_ and having a Supersonic P_ _ and moments later told the women to love themselves as her dancers wore shorts that didn’t cover the lower half of their ass.  Usher’s performance, with the large cross hanging in the background, stained glass windows, a gospel choir, and an exotic dancer, felt demonic.

I left Essence Festival wondering what was celebrated. I went there looking for a unifying cord that would give me hope—hope that we have not lost our way, hope that we could stop assimilating and show up as ourselves.

Let us not forget the definition of culture, which is the art and other demonstrations of a people's intellectual achievement.