When I think of home...

I love my family.

Over the last few years, as I have come to grips with the notion that I am in fact a woman. A woman responsible for bearing the responsibility of fostering and nurturing human life. A woman responsible for creating a home. A woman responsible for the growth and development of (many) children.

I can not shirk it.

Sooner or later, my rockstar lifestyle inclusive of raunchy rhythm and blues and one-night stands with books, will have to end. Maybe not completely... but my priorities will shift from my own personal (and somewhat guilty) pleasures to the well-being of my family: my husband and my (the) kids.

But what does that actually mean for me?

I'm young and by no means (trapped) in a relationship that is forcing me to seriously consider these things, but it is something that I think about.

Where do I wanna call home?

It is no secret that I dropped Milwaukee like a dirty roach infested rag when I graduated in high school and I've been making sweet melodious love to the east coast ever since.

BUT...
my family is in milwaukee.

When I say family... I mean MY FAMILY is there: mom, dad(s), brothers, cousins, aunts, uncles, grandmomma, grandma grace and host of other people that watched (lovingly) me grow up. AND...I'm always the first one to trump the family card. "YOU ALWAYS HAVE YOUR FAMILY. WHAT U GON DO WITHOUT YOUR FAMILY? HOW U GON TREAT YOUR FAMILY LIKE THAT?" So I understand the necessity of surrounding yourself with your family. Living amongst them, depending on them, supporting them and being a PART of the family unity.

I hate Milwaukee.

Hate is a strong word, but I deem it absolutely necessary. I cannot see myself living there without being miserable. I'm not saying anywhere on the east coast is where I'm gonna be but I just can not go to Milwaukee.

but why Mo? WHYYYYY?

First, I'm going to say that my undergradate experience (HU! YOU KNOW!!!) created a monster with me. A monster that needs constant nourishment of fresh oceanic seafood, exposure to peoples and cultures all over the world, emancipated minds, and liberated souls. Second, I've created a familial unit out here. I've got brothers and sisters out here who I need my kids to learn from. I need them and I like to think they need (or at least want me around) as well. Lastly, I'm naturally nomadic. I love to move and experience new places and I'M NOT DONE YET...

but where does that put me?

I've got two families that are very very important for me. I need them both to survive. I need them both to care for me. I need to have consistent access to them no matter the circumstance. I will always live up to my responsibilities no matter what. If mom dukes makes the call and says I need to come home... I'll be there in the quickness.

i am growing up (despite my efforts to remain a youngin forever) and there has to be a real consideration of how i PHYSICALLY place myself in relation to my family (all aspects). It becomes extremely pertinent when I think about doing Ph.D. work. That is a serious time commitment a serious commitment to a space and nurturing myself within that space.

space.


My response to how I handle this situation, how I effectively juxtapose myself between my desires and my responsibilities...will be a test of my GANGSTA...you know what other folks refer to as CHARACTER.

To sum the situation up: "Character is the courage to meet the demands of reality."


just some thoughts... i know i haven't blogged lately. #blackhistorymonth scholarly writing fail.

tales of a sixth grade nothing: natty is as natty does.

I am very different person than I was when I was in the 6th grade.

However, something I said to a friend of mine continues to haunt me to THIS very day.

In sixth grade, I was what some may refer to as "the shit". I mean, not to toot my own horn or anything, but I was bright, funny, athletic, had a boyfriend... basically the jealous dream of every sixth grade girl in the world. (iJoke, iKid).

There were four girls in my sixth grade class. We did everything together. Did homework, played basketball, cracked jokes. Everything. Together. Always. Ironically enough, in my predominately white school (at that time, it no longer is), there was only one white girl in the group. I hope she reads this... still have made love for that whole crew.

Even more ironic, this story isn't about her.

The story is about "Chico". To this very day, I have no idea why we nicknamed her Chico. But that is what we called her... and always called her. If I see her tomorrow, I will exclaim "CHICO!". (Sixth grade girls make no sense.) Anyway, in the sixth grade I was proudly sporting my permy hair up and down the hallway. I think people may refer to that as "stunting" these days, but whatever you call it, I. WAS. DOING. IT.

The white girl of course had straight hair, as did I, and one of the other black girls. However, "Chico" did not. She had natural hair that she wore in pigtails/braids. I didn't get why her hair wasn't permed like ours. I mean, pigtails were for little girls, and we were NOT little girls. I remember distinctly saying, "Chico, when you gonna get a perm!?" I was literally exasperated at the thought of her natural pigtails bouncing all around.
Chico went to a different school the next year. I'm a 90s child, so we didn't have all the cell phones, facebook, and twitter hullabaloo that our younger siblings have access to. As far as I was concerned, I didn't know if I would ever see Chico again. I always thought about her when my bus passed her house on Bender though.

Time passed.

I stopped being the "shit" and became a normal self-absorbed teenager like everyone else. I went to high school with all my middle school friends. Swept up in a pool of creamy goodness (only some will catch that joke), I relished in my effervescent Afrikan-ness without even know what I was doing. My fellow MLHS alums can recall step routines during black history month chapels, questioning the validity of pictures of white jesus everywhere and the demand to celebrate Martin Luther King Jr's bday. (we never had off on that day, neither did we celebrate. I raised a stink and as soon as we graduated, that day was marked off on the calendar).  During my senior, I got really bold... I told my mom that I was threw with perms and wanted to wear my hair natural. (the look of most of my friends at that time equated to the phrase: "DA HELL!?" I wasn't bold enough to do it before graduation. Besides, there are just somethings you CAN'T do in your mother's house.

I graduated and LEFT Milwaukee. I mean I LEFT that place. Three weeks after graduation I moved to Washington, DC. I haven't spent more than two weeks in Milwaukee since then. I miss my family, but I have to admit.... I'm an east-coaster now.

December 2004, in Crandall Hall RM101 in the Harriet Tubman Quadrangle on Howard University's campus... I sat in my room struggling to take out yet ANOTHER set of Senegalese Twists that I BEGGED to get. With pain and agony mixed with an extreme bout of laziness, I called in my Resident Assistant and asked her to CUT THEM THANGS OFF.

So at 1am, after fall classes were complete but before I went home for break, we cut ALL of my hair off.

No shame in my game.

I went to my aunts house the next day. I put a little dye in my hair and proudly boarded the plane to Milwaukee.

For those of you who know me today, you know that my hair is far from the itty bitty afro it was in December 2004. My philosophy on hair is completely different than it was at that time as well. I am not the one to say all girls with natty's are DOWN and all permies are "confused". but I will readily admit that it will be over my own dead body that any of my daughters will place a perm in their head (no offense to Madame CJ Walker, but dag woman, I wish you coulda made ur millions off of our natural beauty!).

Anyway, I still feel bad about my insistence for "Chico" to perm her hair. To this very day. I always wanted her to know that I felt different now. Not that she cared, not that she even remembered, but just to say that is not how I feel anymore.

About 2 hours ago, I was on Facebook... procrastinating, as usual... and a friend suggestion was in my mailbox.

You will not believe who it was..... (yeah, you will).

Yup, Chico.

It's been over 10 years....and there's her picture....and her hair.... permed.

*cue 808s and Heartbreak*

Just kidding. Her hair is pretty, but of course, I still feel guilty. (what kinda self-confidence does one have to have to honestly believe that some comments she made in sixth grade have any bearing on the adult decisions that a woman makes over 10 years later? i dunno, but i guess thats what God gave me... I hope I learn to use my imagined powers for good one day.)

Chico, I'm sorry for ever being in your ear in the 6th grade telling you to get a perm. I shouldn't have done that, but I didn't know any better at the time. I love your hair then, NOW...more than ever. Nevertheless, I'm glad to see you on facebook. Hopefully, we can reconnect sometime when (if) I make it back to Milwaukee. Glad to see you doing well! Peace, Monique