Phenomenal Woman She Was And Always Will Be!

Like many of you, I am actually devastated over the  death of the late and the great Dr. Maya Angelou.

My late Grandmother began my love affair with books and the written word at the age of four. It started with the Bible, Herald of His Coming, and Guidepost. It continued in grade school with The Hardy Boys Mysteries and the Henry Huggins stories.

In high school, it was the great classics from The Scarlet Letter, Of Mice and Men, To Kill a Mockingbird.

So up until college, I never had any experience with literature from people of my same skin hue. In my freshman English class, I was assigned to write a research paper on an individual who had impacted society in some way. I had seen Dr. Angelou on television, and had slightly read her poetry in some of my college textbooks, but I decided that I wanted to know more. I scoured the public library and my college library and most of her works were either checked out, or missing.

I had to write this paper! So I went to Borders bookstore, and I bought the four volume set of her autobiography (I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, Heart of a Woman, Gather Together in My Name, and Singing and Swinging and Getting Merry Like Christmas). When I tell you that my life was changed, I am completely downplaying the experience. From reading about  being abandoned by her birth mother at age 3, her rape at age 8, her teenage motherhood at age 17, her brief stint as a prostitute and madam, her work as an actress, a director, Calypso dancer, teacher, poet....this woman did it all, experienced it all, and come out better on the other side of it!

I do not think there is anyone, regardless of gender, race, socioeconomic status, who can't relate to this phenomenal woman in some form or another. I am a fan of all of her work, but probably my most favorite piece, is her poem, "Still I Rise."

It is ironic and prophetic that just last week, I picked her autobiographical work, Mom and Me, Me and Mom detailing her very complicated, yet very loving relationship with her mother. I saw it, and I had to have it, and now I am glad that I did.

So rest easy Dr. Angelou, your earthly time has expired, but your words and impact never will. Thank you for your life, your love, your light, and most of all, your inspiration!


Until next time.....

Why Mark Cuban is No Better than Don Sterling and Why Both are Dangerous in Their Racism

By now you have probably heard of Mark Cuban's very candid comments. Racists like him secretly applauded him because he said what they felt and wanted to say. Black Conservatives were their typical Uncle Tom selves, and Liberals supported him for having an open and honest discussion about race.

If you didn't hear the comments, I will paraphrase, "If he saw a black male dressed in a hoodie coming towards him, he would cross the street and go in the opposite direction." Of course, when he realized he was totally being an asshole, he tried to clean up his comments by saying, he would have the same reaction if he saw a white kid covered with tattoos (Nice save Mark, but I am not buying what you are selling).

This kind of thinking is what got Trayvon Martin killed. His killer saw him in a hoodie, and believed if he was up to no good also, which is why his parents had to bury their child.

Of course, after thinking about his brand and the millions he had to lose and to not be labeled or categorized with Don Sterling, Cuban tried to save face by apologizing to Trayvon's parents. (Now, if you were you just being honest, why did you have to apologize?). I tell you why, the apology was not sincere. It was simply a feeble attempt for Cuban to protect his brand, because for him and so many racists like him, black people are only of use to them as long as they are making them money. Don't believe me? Google the 2009 incident where Cuban is accused of calling a player from an opposing team a "thug". (We all know what that word really means when directed at African American males).

I want to remind the Mark Cubans of the world of a few facts. When Emmitt Till was brutally murdered he was wearing dress slacks and dress shoes. When the late Dr.King  and so many great civil rights leaders before and after him marched, they had water hoses turned on them, and dogs attacked them,and they were wearing their church clothes.

Hoodies are not thug wear. They are for runners, people who don't like to wear coats, or carry umbrellas. They are only a problem when young black males wear them, according to Cuban and so many racists like him.

So the next time that you want to be honest Cuban, just have a collective cup of STFU, because all your honesty does is stir the pot and put more black male lives in danger.

Until next time.....

Michael Sam and Why Tolerance is Not Acceptance

Michael Sam is the first openly gay football player. The LGBT community rejoiced, Liberals felt vindicated, and Conservatives quoted scriptures and damned his soul to hell.

Everyone was as politically correct as they could be without destroying their individual brands. Then word came that Michael was shooting a docuseries for OWN. Social media blew up! Fellow football players and fans alike had convulsions, which is they were saying be as gay as you want, but don't let it interfere with football. Some even went as far to say that he was more interested in being a celebrity than playing football...um, newsflash professional athletes are celebrities!

I didn't see this same ridicule or scorn when Chad Ochocinco had his reality show, The Ultimate Catch, where he paraded various single women around for the chance to be his girlfriend.

So the question becomes, are you really accepting Sam, or is that the politically correct thing to do, so you will not be labeled a bigot? If he had to hide his sexuality, or only display it in his private time or when it makes you feel comfortable, is this acceptance? No, it is tolerance, meaning I will tolerate him, because I like his football ability, but the other parts of his life should remain hidden.

Another question, who are we as a society to tolerate anything? I mean seriously! He is having sex with other consenting adults, so is it really our business whether he is gay, straight, or bisexual? No, but our society places more value on sports and the money and thrill of the game, than we do the actual people who play the game, especially when those people are young black bucks who we can make millions off of.

The message it sends is, make us money, but don't embarrass us, and don't get out of line!

The truth is, the hype over Sam's sexuality is over, and what appeared to be acceptance is just tolerance. The next few years will be interesting. I wish him Godspeed, but in a country full of bigots and religious zealots who try to force their ways of living onto everyone else, this young man will have a difficult road ahead.

Until next time....

Solange Knowles and the Slut Shaming of Women!

Okay, so unless you live under a rock, you probably have heard of the infamous attack on Jay-Z by his sister-in-law, Solange, and if you are like me, you are beyond tired of hearing about it, although the Instagram memes are beyond hilarious!

But that is not what I want to talk about today. I want to discuss the natural slut shaming or victim blaming of women. It has to stop!

Before all of the facts were out, everyone immediately came to Jay-Z's defense. He was such a gentleman for not hitting her back, he was so calm, Jigga is so great...is anyone else ready to vomit yet?

Meanwhile, Solange was wrong, she is bi-polar, she needs to stay out of her sister's marriage...did I miss anything?

Even fans turned on Beyonce, saying she should have intervened...um, there were bodyguards and Jay-Z is 6'4" and over 200lbs; I don't think he needs Beyonce to protect him.

Although there were three adults involved here, well four if you count the bodyguard, the two with the vaginas were naturally to blame, Solange for attacking poor defenseless Jay-Z,  and Beyonce for not protecting her husband (insert eyeroll here).

We saw the same thing recently with Don Sterling and his mistress. People were not mad that he made racist remarks, or that he has a long standing history of racist behavior toward minorities. No, his mistress was a whore and gold digger for violating his 4th Amendment rights. (Newsflash, the Constitution protects our rights against the government, not private citizens or corporations, so unless Barack and Washington are involved, please leave the Constitution out of conversations about rights among private citizens).

I don't know what happened that night, and neither do you, but two facts are indisputable: Solange has never had an outburst like this before, so you can chill with the crazy talk, and Beyonce left the event with her sister, as opposed to her husband, so let that marinate around your consciousness a bit.

My point is, we have to do a better job protecting our women. It is 2014, so the man is always right, and women being vile creatures, mentality has got to stop! If you are perpetuating this thought process, check yourself!\

Until next time.....

Book #2: You Will Never Find Another Love Like Mine

One day I was sitting in Panera Bread, people watching. As I people watch, I like to make up stories in my head about what I think their lives may be like (No, I am not crazy...just a writer who likes to make up stories from time to time). Now anyone who knows me, knows I also love music and I sing. So I was sitting enjoying my lunch and people watching, Lou Rawls' song, "You'll Never Find Another Love Like Mine," just popped into my head, so of course, I had to answer the call of music, and I started humming.

I started thinking about how we all need love, and it is the one, universal truth that connects us all. It doesn't matter if you are male or female, black or white, gay or straight, everybody needs and wants love..

So I decided to create a book of short stories, which chronicles the lives of ten people, from different walks of life, and how each answers this call to love....I have posted an excerpt from one of the stories, my character Lauren, who is dealing with an ex-boyfriend who is a stalker...You Will Never Find Another Love Like Mine, coming the end of May 2014!

Lauren

“So you are not going to do anything?” I was slowly getting more pissed by the minute. Here I was trying to lodge a formal complaint against my stalker ex-boyfriend, and this guy was staring me down like I had two foreheads or something.

“Ms. Thomas,” I don’t see anything that he has done. Maybe called you a few many times, but that is no different than a telemarketer.  I need to see a history of threatening behavior or some indication of your life being in danger. “This is the response from the desk sergeant who is taking my statement. This guy looks about nine months pregnant, with twins, teeth badly stained from cigarettes and years of cough drinking, and looks like the type of man who hasn’t had a woman since Clinton was in office, the first term. For guys like him, women are probably only good enough for the few moments of pleasure that he can muster up, which is why he is not taking me seriously.

“So I am supposed to wait until he actually kills me, and then have my ghost come down to the station and apply for a restraining order?” I massaged my throbbing temples to try to diffuse the headache that was creeping up and also to keep myself from reaching across the desk and wrapping that much too short tie, around his fat, almost nonexistent neck.

“Don’t think we are not taking you seriously Ms. Thomas. Just keep documenting your interactions with Mr. um….”

“Troy, Troy Davis.”

“Yeah, Mr. Davis.

“We really are sorry,” answered his much younger and better looking partner, Mr. Tall Glass of Chocolate Milk.” His badge said Officer H. Rogers, and I am guess the H stood for handsome, because he was. I am talking pearly white teeth, milk chocolate skin, nicely, chiseled cheekbones, and long, perfectly manicured fingers. Did I mention that he has big feet? But who am I kidding? I am trying to get away from a crazy stalker, the last thing I need to do is divert my attention to someone who maybe a stalker as well. Although something tells me that as fine as Officer Rogers is, he is probably the one getting stalked.

I lunge my Michael  Kors purse over my shoulders and roll my eyes at both of them to signal my disgust. All of my tax dollars paying their salaries, and I basically get treated like I am a hypochondriac, but in the legal sense.

I walk to my car, prepared to just get in and drive home, but guess who is leaning against the hood smiling like a Cheshire cat?

“What are you doing here?” After that interchange in the police station and now faced with the very problem I was trying to rid myself of, my anger was a level 10.

“The question is, what are you doing here? Is somebody bothering you bae?”

“I am not your bae, baby, or any other variation of the word. Yes, somebody is bothering me, and that somebody is you!”

“Why you got to be like that? You wouldn’t answer your cell, so I decided to follow you.”

“Do you know how deranged that sounds? Especially, since you are not my boyfriend anymore, and I don’t want to have anything to do with you. Get a clue!”

“You are just mad right now. Once you have had the opportunity to calm down, you will see things my way.”

Is this lunatic actually listening to himself?

“I am going to give you five seconds to disengage yourself from my car, or else I am walking back into that police station and getting the restraining order that I couldn’t get before.”

“Restraining order? You are going to put the white man on the brotha?”

“Don’t try that brotha crap with me. You need help, several intense sessions on a couch with a therapist.”

“No, what I need are a few sessions between your thighs.” He looked as if he had just solved the Pythagorean Theorem, as opposed to saying something highly ignorant and offensive.

I turned on my heels, and indicated that I was about to make good on my threat. He held his hands up.

“Truce?”

“No, truce! I want you to leave me alone!”

“I just love you so much, and can’t imagine my life without you”

“Well, imagine it, because we are done!”

“Just give me one more chance.”

“No”

“After all that we have been to each other, that is all I get? A one word response, which is supposed to end four years of happiness.”

“I don’t know what relationship that you were in, but the one that ended for me three months ago, was anything but happy, since my boyfriend is a stalker.”

“That’s kinda harsh.”

“Well, what do you call being told repeatedly to leave someone alone? Or calling multiple times a day, after I don’t pick up the first time? Or following me around town, when I have told you that it creeps me out?”

“Love.”

“Excuse me?”

“I call it love,”

“You are sick!  I mean it, you need serious, professional help.”

He was now standing on the passenger side door, and I used this opportunity to unlock the driver’s side and get myself in. I immediately started the engine, which he used as an opportunity to lean against the passenger’s side.

“Either move, or you are about to be road kill.” I didn’t even give him the energy or courtesy of rolling down my window, just shouted as loud as I could.

“You wouldn’t do that. You love me too much!”

I put the car in reverse, and started to pull out of my parking space. Some people can’t be told, so they have to be shown!