“Weakness lies in an ego that refuses to acknowledge wrong. The honesty and love needed to apologize is where true strength lies.”
Stephanie D. Pearson-Davis
This week has been a doozie y’all. I don’t want to write at all and I want to write everything at the same time. I went on an extended weekend vacation with my family. The time we had was fabulous. We were back home for thirty minutes when one of these babies began puking their guts out. If that wasn’t enough; I felt like I got hit by a mack truck for about 24 hours because apparently cleaning up shit and vomit 24/7 causes exhaustion. My postpartum pelvic injury returned with a vengeance. Walking hurts. The un-cherry on top of this week is Jussie Smollett being arrested today for allegedly orchestrating his own racist and homophobic assault. I’m still processing that situation. No comment.
The shining moment of the week was “Our Little Island Girl”, Episode 13 of Season 3 of This Is Us. If you have eyesight and a pulse you know that This Is Us is the best show on tv. I remember when the show Parenthood ended, I was devastated. What other show could bring forth such sincere characters, relatable family dynamics, true chemistry amongst actors and impeccable timing? Who could create situations and story lines that would leave me and my friends stunned or reduced to a puddle of tears? What show would create multiple emotionally layered characters that reflect me? Who could do all of that?
This Is Us. *Spoiler Alert*
This weeks episode was centered around Beth. It’s no secret that Beth is my favorite character. I have been concerned about Beth for a while now. I was worried that she was sacrificing herself for the greater good. She hadn’t realized that she is the greater good. I wrote about it here. “Our Little Island Girl” gave us the insight that we had been anxiously waiting for. We were wondering, “How did she get here?” Our questions were answered. And oh my goodness!!! There were so many lessons to be learned in this episode. The theme of parent/child dynamics, struck me deeply.
I have so many words. I hope I can write them in a way that makes sense.
Growing up Black is a be seen and not heard kind of existence. In my experience, to find a Black child with the authority to fully BE, in the presence of adults is the exception; not the rule. Control, rules, excellence and respectability are major components of the Black child rearing experience. Black children need to grow up with their shit together. This didn’t happen in a vacuum. It’s a direct result of slavery, Jim Crow, the Civil Rights Era and a post racial America *side eye*. The privilege of speaking about anything at anytime was snatched from us and whipped out of us on slave ships, auction blocks, in the fields and in the big house.
Saying the “wrong” thing or being at the “wrong” place at that time could get an adult or even a child, literally killed— It still can. We have too many examples. Being seen and not heard is not a simplified way to parent; it’s a safety mechanism. Part of the Black experience is simply trying to keep your children alive in a way that it isn’t true for other races. The same is true of how we are steered towards career choices. Careers that are perceived as frivolous, i.e. dancer, artist or musician are not routinely supported.
We see this in Beth’s mom. She wants what she perceives as the sure path to success for her daughter, which is education. After her father died, Beth’s mom refused to pay for dance. Choosing instead to steer her towards college. Black parents are often more concerned with the tangible than the existential. Being happy is often seen as an unnecessary privilege. They’re not as interested in your soul being fed as they are your mouth. Parents need to know their babies can feed themselves.
It’s not as well understood that you can die from a malnourished soul.
That’s pretty much what we’ve been watching with Beth- a slow death. Black parents too often measure the success of their children by what they have achieved instead of who they become. Parenting is so freaking hard!!!! Not Black parenting exclusively-parenting period. It’s no easy feat. And no one really discusses it. We have baby showers. We laugh about terrible two’s, grimace about teenagers and smile at their weddings. Pretending to have done it all with relative ease.
No one discusses just how hard parents are working to not fuck up their kids.
No one is admitting, “I’m so scared that my ideals for my child’s life don’t align with my child.” No one is posting pics of their 18 year old in front of a junior college writing #FirstDay. We want university pics. My oldest son wants to be a shoe designer and I am terrified. How many people who major in shoe design become shoe designers and how many of them end up working at Foot Locker? #NoShade I don’t want him living in my basement and I don’t want to pay his rent. I want him to be whole, but I don’t want to have to worry about him while he pursues what he deems to be his purpose. Which one of us has the issue.?
This. Episode. Convicted. Me.
And listen… This isn’t an indictment of Black parents or parenting while Black. I’m a Black mother with four Black children. I have great admiration and reverence for the navigation of the Black experience. Also, I am the child of two Black parents that I love DEEP. From their first day as parents, they gave us the best of what they had every day. I had a wonderful, loving childhood. Still, in the midst of all that love I learned that my voice was secondary. I learned that being my best could only be achieved through the eyes of my parents. No one said it to me, but I still learned it. It’s funny because as I now step back into the hope filled fullness of the little girl I abandoned, one of the greatest joys has come from watching them find pride in the path I am intentionally choosing for myself.
The definition of excellence and the only permission I need to be excellent now comes from me. All my parents ever wanted was for me to become the best version of myself. There’s still so much unpacking to be done.
The best part of this episode is in the final quarter when Beth bravely addresses the perceived missteps of her mother. She, with love and respect, explains to her mother the pain of pushing through her father’s death without properly grieving, losing dance and the emotional toll of it all. My word!!! It was too deep! Then, when I thought I could keep my cry cute and quiet… Beth’s mother EXPLAINED her choices and APOLOGIZED to her. Next level parenting occurred. Once again, I heard Auntie Iyanla’s voice exalting the power of a mother’s story for her daughter. Her mother was doing the best she could. She was motivated by love and the fear of failure... like most parents. No malice was intended.
Children, with love and respect, need to be allowed to put words to their pain. Parents need to hear them with a spirit of reflection and empathy. Apologize where appropriate. And because no one is perfect; not even parents—apologies are always appropriate. Apologizing doesn’t change the hierarchy of parenthood. It doesn’t diminish the struggle or the sacrifices. It trues up the relationship and fortifies the bond. The old school thinks apologizing to children is weak. Weakness lies in an ego that refuses to acknowledge wrong. The honesty and love needed to apologize is where true strength lies.
Honesty, love, respect and ego cannot share the same space. Apologize.
I’m not here because I’m an expert. I’m here because I have experiences. -Stephanie