We As a People...

Besides all those speeches about being the "architects of civilization", "originators of language and culture" and most importantly-- if you judge by BET videos, "the Beyonce booty bounce"-- I have come to realize that we as a people are indeed a treasured, rare breed. We can beat box and pop rock, give a sermon on the mount to music and pop a collar all while making bucks upon bucks in corporate America (Sir Jigga). We can resemble a Brooklyn bred cricket, but lend such artistic prowess to the genre of film that it would be hard to imagine black america without our art (Spike Lee). Or we can dazzle on the court (Allen Iverson), in the studio (Mariah Carey) or in our pursuit of political power (Barack Obama). Or, like Common, we can just be...

...Completely nuts
So, unlike the greater New York City population, I didn't curse at the screen as last week's initial installment of "House of Payne" pre-empted the long-awaited Girlfriends finale. At home in Jersey, I actually got to see Joan act a fool in all of her horrible circa '91 green dress & Muppet-eyed glory. But, I got a peak at Tyler Perry's new show the following day and shook my head in horror about our future as a people. Thought #1: Black people, as I am aware, do not habitually go around their house shouting and gesturing with their necks. Why then do we have this representation on this chitlin-circuit church play passing for a sitcom? Thought #2: Why must the mother in said shows always be 400 lbs? I'm just saying... Now big-bonededness runs in a lot of black families, but not to that extent. Why must mammy waddle down the stairs and threaten her hubby with bulging eyes and a pointing finger? But through it all, Tyler still has his fans. I guess it's like anything else, eat the meat, leave the bones... I still say the likelihood of us as a people ever being free is intrinsically dependent on the eradication of all Tyler Perry TV shows. Period. Lol.

... And sometimes wonderful
So, I attended my brother's graduation from the one and only Morehouse College this past weekend and reveled in the pride of their tradition (and an appearance by a coffee sipping Denzzzzel *smile* whose son was also graduating) and was sooo proud of us as a people. Linked arm over arm, amid a slight drizzle that came and went from the early morning hours and on (magically, for the first time ever, I saw no black folks running from the rain!), stood the largest graduating class that the school had ever had in its 139 year history. Heads reverently bowed, the brothers of the House, swayed like a gigantic fraternity as bass voices lent themselves to their time-worn school song, "Dear Old Morehouse." They sung as the words reflected the sacrifice, struggle and hopes of our forebearers. And as they put on their hoods, cloaking themselves for the first time not as men of Morehouse but official Morehouse Men, I nearly teared. For the last four years, they had had the unique honor of attending and excelling in a school environment that taught them that to be black is not to be inferior, is not to be shiftless or lazy, is not to be materialistic and selfish, but it is to be proud, to be strong, to be articulate, to be mindful of elders, to be smart, to be humble. For their experience, they were grateful. And, as a newly minted sister of a Morehouse Man, so was I.

*smile*

Sometimes I actually think we as people will overcome after all...