I see Black people

I have tried to ignore it or rather ignore my feeling about it. I watched a dear friend shed tears when Teddy Kennedy's senate seat went to a dim-witted, blowhard who appealed to rage filled people who say they don't want big government but sure want government to fix everything and NOW. I had a glass of wine and a bite of chocolate as if that would make it go away, even though I knew as soon as Obama was elected that it would happen. Maybe that's why the honeymoon period was so sweet because we got lightheaded from holding our breath.

But it's here now, and, like a hemorrhoid, like the loud, drunken ass on the bus, like the blood bloated fly knocking itself silly between window and screen, it can't be ignored anymore, at least not by me. This is a backlash against the fact that Obama is Black.

And I'll tell you why.

My parents would tell me, from time to time, that I would always have to work harder, accomplish more, be better than my white peers simply because of the color of my skin. To achieve the same results as everyone else, I'd have to be roughly twice as good. I don't know if I ever completely bought into this idea, and certainly, my road has been much easier than the previous generations in terms of what I've had to face in terms of discrimination. However, the sense I have and the proof I have of the insidiously institutionalized racism in our systems, but more importantly, in our hearts is honed to a fine edge. Call it the resurgence of hate, if you will. It's the same bitter brew from which terrorism arises. Take some folks who feel victimized. Maybe they are victimized. Maybe they've had some loses, maybe their lives have gotten harder. Maybe their lives were never easy. They decide--they make a choice--to choose to blame someone else, someone they can discern as different from themselves in some way as being the cause for their perceived misfortunes. This is kind of a double whammy in the Obama situation--it would be hard, I think, for anyone with an even slightly clear mind to deny the fact that we're in the mess that we're in because of Bush/Cheney/greedy men/and our own greed and blindness. But let's not face this, oh no, let's not try to change what we can change within ourselves, or help our neighbors, let's blame that Nigra in the White House because we knew he couldn't do it in the first place, being a Nigra and all. Sure, the congress is in a log jam, sure he's generated more potentially life-changing legislation in his first few months in office than many, many other leaders, sure he's changed the way the U.S. is viewed around the world, sure he and his team have engineered some unpopular but ultimately successful bailouts that have kept us from falling farther down an economic cesspool, but, damnit, we're mad at a fundamental level, we're bitter, and we're deeply in touch with our ugliest attitudes, and this makes us more than willing to be swept along in a tide of ignorance and bullshit that will cost us even more of our prosperity in the long run.

I know President Obama has a lot to learn; I know that he has had failures during this first year; there are areas where he seems to have been short-sighted, stubborn, naive. His team doesn't seem to have learned how to deal with Congress productively. The back room deal making that people are complaining about has been going on since before politics was an evil gleam in a prehistoric man's eye.

But we owe ourselves that thing, that attitude that seems to serve Americans best which comes out of times when things are at their worst--that sense of pulling together for a common good. Those few days after 9/11, when we were letting each other into traffic, and helping each other up the steep bus steps. The collective rush, the palpable sense of having elevated ourselves once civil rights legislation was passed. Those few brief months of happiness after Obama was elected, that whiff of having at the least elected someone who was bright enough for the job. The surge of support for the earthquake victims in Haiti. The glow that comes from living in a place where speech is free and all shades are tolerated.

So, I'm taking note. I have my ugly feelings, I've shouted at the TV, but I'm going to commit to be involved and I'm going to act out of my faith that human beings have the potential to see beyond the superficial, even that idiot Palin. I'll try to give this new Blowhard the benefit of the doubt. And I'll pray like mad that the birthers, tea baggers, militiamen and die hard bigots and that Ken doll Mitt Romney have some kind of epiphany about what it truly is to be American.

And I'll try to remember that I have a sense of humor.

Purple Dinosaurs

My favorite Christmas present this past Christmas was the gathering of all my family, and especially my babies--baby bro, and baby nieces, aged 12 and 17. We danced, we sang, we ate and ate, and laughed like banshees. And Erica, my 17 year old baby who has Down Syndrome and a little autism, we sing. Barney songs.

Now I have the natural hatred any adult would have for Barney and his simplistic songs and amazingly annoying giggle. Baby Bop, the other little costumed character on the show is EXTREMELY annoying, with a nails-on-chalkboard screech, and who talks baby talk until you want to rip off his costume head and set it on fire. Or at least that's how I felt when Erica was 5 and a regular Barney watcher. Her sister, Halle, had just been born, underweight, and I was in Tomball Texas with the family helping look after Erica. Every morning we watched Barney, Gulla gulla Island, and The Big Comfy Couch. Gulla Gulla was a Nickelodean show about a family living on one of the Carolina Islands who sang African songs and practiced the Gulla traditions. There was also a pollywog named Benya Benya who had a really cool theme song. ("Benya Benya pollywog, he's my very favorite frog".) And the Big Comfy Couch was about a doll named Molly Dolly, her Anti Macasser and the mailman, Major Bedhead. There was also a cat named Snicklefritz--to this day I love to hear Erica say that word. Now that's some cool stuff and Erica and I sang and danced and did all the activities from these shows.

But of course Erica's favorite was Barney, insipid, and cloying and very very basic. And now every time we are together, we sing Barney songs. "I love you, you love me," with attendant hugging and kissing, "The Wheels on the Bus," "Clean up, Clean up, Everybody Everywhere," and "Oh Mr. Sun, Sun, Mr. Golden Sun, please shine down on me." There's also one about different kinds of sandwich bread but neither of us can remember all of the words. Sure, we sing other things, too--her "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" is adorable and should be recorded for posterity and she and Halle and I still break up when we do the name game with my brother's name: "Banana fanna fo Farlton..." But those Barney songs are what binds Erica and I. Sometimes when we are first together she doesn't quite recognize me because I've changed 'do colors, or am wearing contacts, but once we start singing, she remembers. Every word, every step, every gesture. Warms my cynical cockles every time.

Now, Erica, like many teenagers is into boy bands and also sings in a gospel choir. She doesn't talk much but can sing anything.

I learned many things while I was with my family over the holidays. Halle taught us the "Soulja Boy" Dance from the video (see Youtube), Mom gave me a great ginger cookie recipe, and my brother and former sister-in-law always teach me a lot about laughter and grace whenever I am with them. And my girrrrlll Erica always, always teaches me about love and joy.

So in the new year, I wish you all singing babies, people in your life who you connect with in special ways, who let you know how precious you are. I hope I'm one of them for you.