When Black Women Lead

This will be a great opportunity to network, I thought, to expose my talents to professionals from a different demographic, i.e. White people. However, after our initial welcoming event, I wondered how I’d force myself to open to people unlike me. There were so many of them and so little of us (because you know we count in a room sparse with people of color). When we took our class photo I purposely tried to stand away from the other three black women, three Latino women, and the one black man, so it’d look a bit more …colorful. Still, as we prepared for our weekend retreat and official initiation into Leadership Pioneer Valley, I prepared myself to code switch. It’s what we do, change our speech style, volume, body language and vocabulary to mirror mainstream America. We drop the colloquialisms; avoid being our true selves to not offend, intimidate, or perpetuate negative cultural stereotypes. For some of us code switching is fluid and easy, and we never had to be taught; it was learned by watching. I was ready for it.

 To my surprise, the way our differences were brought to the forefront right from the beginning by executive director Lora Wondolowski, made me feel comfortable with just being me( in all my Black girl magic), without fear of making others uncomfortable or feeling like what I said or did represented all of us. This was just the beginning of the many lessons I learned throughout the 10-month program for emerging leaders in Western Massachusetts.  Without giving away all the details (because you should totally check it out yourself), I learned to listen more and react less. Through constant internal evaluation, that everything wasn’t crucial or warranted my input. I didn’t have to take over or take charge, but that I could earn be “happy enough” with the consensus. My strengths were validated and there were strategies I could immediately implement on the day job as well as in my entrepreneurial work.  In the end, it was way more than a list of new contacts, it was realizing how we all benefit from honest, uncomfortable discussions and the value of effectively using your voice. It was building collaborative relationships, friendships, and a new perspective of myself as well the Pioneer Valley.

Class of 2017. A great group of people

Bad Ass Lora Wondolowski, executive director of LPV, handing me my diploma

 For more information about applying for to be a part of class of 2018, visit www.leadershippv.org

The Mixed Feelings of Motherhood

            There’s something so bittersweet about the anticipation of my first born’s graduation from high school. I've been reflecting so much lately. I remember thinking,  "I just have to get him out of high school and I’m good”. But looking at him on the verge of 18, I start to think:  it’s not enough, but it will have to be enough.  In a couple of month’s, he will be a legal adult, able to make his own decisions. And while I can offer my opinion and give my unsolicited advice, in the end, it’s his choice, his life. That is hard for me because he’s been my baby for so long.

            Since the day I found out I was pregnant with him,  most of my life’s big decisions have been centered on what would be best for him. I changed my major, trading the unstable writing world for a more secure career in social services; I bought a house an adjacent town from where I grew up, so my son could be away from gangs and street violence; I pursued my dreams, not just for me, but so that he could see it could be done.  I worked two jobs so he would not want for anything; I took him with me when I worked with those were less fortunate so he could appreciate what he had. Most people look at him and think I've done a pretty decent job, me and my village of course. But lately, I've felt a sense of resentment towards his father resurfacing that I had long vanished.

            While trying to get my master’s degree and working 2 jobs, and struggling with my new home ownership responsibilities, I became frustrated that he had not been leading by example, or spending quality time, or providing financially since we broke up when my son was three. It took until my son was 11 to begin to let it go, forgive. But still, every now and then when I gave my son my last 10 bucks for lunch money, or if I saw his father in a brand new coat, or heard about him having another child, I became incensed. My son was his first child, and he was 21 with a high school diploma and an able mind and body when my baby was born, but he chose street life over being a present parent.  So I’d get upset, then I’d get over it because that’s what mothers do. As my son became more dependent and older, I had to deal with his fatherless, so the resentment became dormant. Besides, I had my father, who was doing more than his share to help raise him.

  Now that this momentous event is upon us, I feel that resentment brewing again. Why? Because now I have another son, a toddler, and because his father is present, I get to be the soft, nurturing mommy. Daddy can be the stern baritone voice, and mommy can be… mommy.  I was once that way with my older son, but then when the realities of the world set in, when I saw my boy growing into a Black man, an endangered species in America, fear crept in. I had to be tough, I had to be on his back. I had to teach him about sex, how to behave if pulled over by the police, model work ethic, school him about the streets; I had to be the crazy mom to show up if he wasn't where he was supposed to be. I feel like I was robbed of being the pushover mom... the sweet mom I wanted to be because his father didn't step up. 

Now he will be there on graduation day, and at the party, and I honestly have mixed feelings about it. On one hand, that is his father, and I've never discouraged their relationship, despite my feelings.  On the other hand, he will get to celebrate something he had NO PART in making happen. And that has me feeling… “Some type of way.”  But I guess I’ll get over, because that’s just what mothers do.

On Martin Luther King’s Birthday

With the release of the movie Selma, I’ve seen many social media posts of people being surprised by MLK’s adultery. My first thought was that it was no secret. Sure, they didn’t share this with us when we were taught in school, but I really thought folks new about this. My second thought was that he was indeed a man, a human, someone capable of mistakes and intentional wrongdoings. But it’s hard for some to conceive that about this figure, whom we’ve dedicated a national holiday to, whom we built a monument in honor of , whose lines from the “I have Dream” speech are embedded in our memory since elementary school, and  for many the only  positive male African-American figure they were ever taught.

            I mean think about it… this man was thrust into leadership at 26 with the Montgomery Boycott. When he led that march in Selma he was just 36 year old. I am 36 years old today, and there are already times I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders with the responsibility I have to our youth. I could only imagine living under the constant fear of death for my family and myself, to have my home bombed and still have to go and speak to people who look to me for leadership and hope. And I’m sure that sense of power was equally ego-boosting, so much that, yes MLK “hollered back” when women smiled his way, or showed  up at his hotel room. Groupie love isn’t just for musicians and movie stars. These flaws serve to remind us that although we have our weaknesses; we are capable of incredible greatness, a greatness that cannot be erased I am still in awe at not only the strength of him and his wife, but of all the others who trusted his leadership, who believed when there was reason to doubt, who risked their lives and freedom for us.  I dedicated one of my poems called Our Legacy to them:

 “The Legacy you leave starts today,

 And you can say

That you don’t care,

But you are only here

 Because Martin and Malcolm both died

 At the age of 39

For the sake of equality,

 Because millions marched and protested

 In the name of freedom

And now you owe it to them…
toy carry on our legacy.”

What legacy will you leave?