I am so happy to be writing today. Describing the last almost three months as difficult would be a major understatement . I have wanted to write— to tell you what my family and I have been facing. I have wanted to write about the truth of walking my child through a traumatic experience. I have wanted to share the intimate details of a helpless mother… the heartache of watching the best parts of you become the darkest part of you.
But this is my safe space… my joy.
This is a blog read by many people and yet it still feels so intimate to me. I didn’t want to tarnish it by discussing an experience I haven’t healed from. I didn’t want to transfer these negative emotions. I’ve been so angry and sad and angry and enraged.
Imagine a female president or vice-president—Not just on television, but in real life. I mean, I love the idea of women knocking over walls and breaking glass ceilings. I just don’t want it at the expense of someone standing on my head.
Say what now?!?!?!! Is this really happening? I was simultaneously mortified and totally excited at the same time. Rob… since we calling him that now… Rob wants to talk to me on the phone? On the inside I went into total teenage girl mode. Conflicted, shocked, elated, scared, annoyed and gassed up all at the same damn time. To him I said, “Oh, ok.”
I was shocked because his brother had confirmed what the world wanted to know so badly. R.Kelly and Aaliyah were engaged in a kind of relationship that prevented him from approaching me, another girl, directly. I was conflicted because I was a huge fan of Aaliyah. Was I willing to betray her? Also, does he know how old I am? I mean I'm totally mature, but I'm just wondering. I looked down at my plaid uniform skirt from my single-sex high school and resolved that to him age truly ain't nothing but a number.
Today I am writing to reach the sensibilities and cognitive capabilities of good White folks. The power to change the status quo lies primarily with you. You need to say something... At your dinner tables, at your school board meetings, at the deli counter. You know racists. Your neighbors, family and friends express racially charged sentiments that apologetically end with, “you know what I mean.” Or “I don’t mean it like that. You know I’m not racist.” You must call them out.
