Undercover Sistah Day on Suits
On Wednesday night, two of my guilty pleasures came together… well, three, actually. Suits + Pretty Little Liars + two of my favorite undercover sistahs, Meghan Markle and Troian Bellisario. I know I’ve mentioned many times how I enjoy being the Biracial Whisperer. PLL‘s Troian Bellisario and Suit‘s Meghan Markle are two of my favorite…
Rachel Dolezal and the Problem of Colorism
Like many people, I've been fascinated (in horror) watching the Rachel Dolezal "passing" story unfold. I'm not going to rehash the various layers of how what she did was so very wrong or why "transracial," as it has been used with respect to this story, is not a thing and should not be compared to Caitlyn Jenner or any other transgendered person. Those issues have all been artfully discussed and dissected ad nauseum, and there is little more I could add to them that hasn't been said before. One thing I have seen very little discussion on, however, is how the discussion regarding Rachel Dolezal's deception relates to colorism.
"Colorism," for those who don't know, is an intraracial form of bigotry, prejudice, discrimination, or supremacy based on the lightness or darkness of skin tone. Colorism does not really exist within the white community as an intraracial issue (as there is not as wide a range of skin tones among whites as there are in other races and ethnicities), though whites may exercise some bit of colorism against other groups, where they prefer the lighter-skinned of those groups to the darker [however, I would still classify that as just "racism," rather than "colorism"]. Although the roots of colorism in the black community can be traced back to the benefits and status afforded blacks during slavery and Jim Crow, colorism continues to persist to this day. And it is a two-way street.
In 2013, OWN (the Oprah Winfrey Network) ran a documentary called "Dark Girls," in which dark-skinned black women discussed the ways their skin color has affected the way they have been treated and perceived, largely hurtful. This documentary was followed this January by "Light Girls," which shared the stories of hurt and rejection experienced by light-skinned black women by questioning the belief that light skin makes for an easier life. Both documentaries have their fair share of acclaim and criticism, both of which is beyond the scope here. My issue is the idea of questioning someone's "blackness" based on his/her appearance.
Let me make it crystal clear from the outset that I am in no way arguing that Rachel Dolezal can consider herself black. As I have previously stated, self-identification is important, but that self-identification must be rooted in reality. Unless Rachel Dolezal presents a 23andMe or Ancestry.com DNA report verifying some African ancestry [doubtful], there is no reality in which she can be considered a black woman in this country. I am only discussing those people who self identify as black or part-black whose reality and ancestry would support that claim.
Moving on...
One of the things that has disturbed me the most as this story unfolds is watching the amount of colorism spewing forth. From the black men who make comments insinuating Rachel Dolezal "can stay" because she's hotter than most black women to the comments that people "should have known that she wasn't black," because she doesn't look the part, this story has brought forth my uncomfortable feelings with colorism.
The latter charge feels like an assault on the claims of blackness by those who don't pass a color check. During slavery and Jim Crow, lighter blacks exercised colorism against darker blacks by way of the "paper bag test" (those whose skin was darker than a paper bag were not allowed to enter) and the "comb test" (you "pass" if a fine-tooth comb can go through your hair without stopping). I don't know where the color line is allegedly drawn by those asserting Rachel Dolezal doesn't look black by any reasonable standards of blackness, but it appears that some combination of beige skin + light eyes + fine-ish hair + European features = you fail the Blackness Test. It is not 100% clear to me if, say, Rashida Jones fails because she's more olive than tan or she passes because her dad is Quincy Jones. Or if she is over the color line, do we get to welcome Catherine Zeta-Jones to the tribe, too? Pete Wentz, yay or nay? How about Mariah Carey? What are black people going to do if we lose Mariah Carey? Does her 20+ year career now become cultural appropriation? And does Amber Rose retain membership to the black community based on that fantastic ass alone?
You see where I'm going with this. The possibilities are endless, numerous, and utterly ridiculous. It's also hurtful. How dare someone else decide that your black isn't "black enough." If someone (rightfully) self-identifies as black or part-black, how messed up is it to say that they just don't look the part enough to be who they were raised to be? And how ironic is it that the same people who would deny membership in Club Black because someone's hair or nose is too straight or eyes are too light usually flock to those articles and blog posts about "people you didn't know are black." I guess now some of us are ready to kick them all out until we can further investigate their claims of blackness. Oh... We are...
Look, I'm not denying that someone who appears white to most white people is enjoying a great deal of white privilege that darker people of color will never share; but that doesn't mean we throw away someone's ancestry, their culture, their life experience, or their identity, simply because they have those privileges. Does it mean there are certain discussions to which they can't relate because they have never and will never have those experiences? Of course. Does that make them any less black? No.
I guess the only solution here is we're just going to have to start issuing Black Cards. If your children, siblings, or other loved ones are too light to pass the Black Test, make sure they know to carry their cards at all times when they are not with you until we can get this whole thing sorted out.
Never leave home without it
Or, you know, we can stop telling other black people that they are too white-looking to sit with us.
Walking the Walk and Talking the Talk (AKA How I Spent My Winter
Vacation)
I know it's been a slow year on this blog, so for those of you who have stuck around, let me first thank you. Whether you're old or new here, welcome (welcome back) and Happy New Year to all!
Honestly, it's been hard to write more than rants on Facebook walls or quick blurbs on Twitter. My heart has been really heavy. There have been times where I have just been at my breaking point. I'm fearful of the world we are leaving our children. I truly am. And though I've kept on a brave face for my girls and even still found time to find some levity in the world [moment of silence for Joe Manganiello's singlehood] and have kept myself busy with craft project after craft project, whenever there was silence I couldn't fill, one thought always came back: we are fucked.
So I could just keep being afraid of the silence, or I could do something.
Pop Culture Dad is from St. Louis. [Yeah, I know]. Between the events in Ferguson and some other things, the likelihood of us making it to our annual Christmas trip this year was low like a girl in a Flo Rida song. But... it's family, you know? And we only get to see them twice a year. But PCD and I decided that if we were going to go into the belly of the best, some good was going to have to come of it.
I had been following the action on Twitter and Facebook since the very beginning, but realized as Christmas was approaching that I didn't actually know where to find information on how to get involved. I asked around and got several references for groups looking for lawyers to help out. I got in touch with those groups, and they all said they would get back to me... Then we got to St. Louis and... I just waited. No calls. I called again. I was told they would get back to me. My plan to be part of a solution was being thwarted. And, quite honestly, I felt a little depressed about it. In my head, our entire week in St. Louis was going to be filled with one rally or jail visit after another with us shouting to the family, "Come along or we'll just have to catch you later!" In reality, it was basically like any other trip to the city: family, food, movie, Magic House. Then finally the morning before we went home to Texas, my phone rang with a text alert:
TODAY (SATURDAY), 2PM: STL's United We Stand Silent March. Meet at Union Station downtown (18th and Market).
Finally! I informed Pop Culture Dad that, despite all the things we needed to do that day and all the promises we made to family, we were going. He was totally game, but we were also unprepared. On the way there, we ran into Michaels and grabbed posters and markers. The Pop Culture Girls decided they wanted to do their own posters. They did not, however, know how to spell "Black Lives Matter" on their own. So I wrote it out for them and told them they could follow it. Little Diva (being six and all) did a pretty great job. Super Girl got all of the letters, buuuuut, well, they weren't exactly in any particular order. So she allowed me to make her a new sign, and she decorated it.
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| Super Girl and Pop Culture Dad |
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| Little Diva made her own sign ("MY LIFE MATTERS"). Mommy probably should have told her yellow on pink doesn't really show from far away. |
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| This is the adorable sweatshirt hiding under those huge coats. It was far too cold to show them off. |
Despite our rushing, we made it to the meeting place in time and ready to go. It was cold (particularly for us Southern folk), and it was rainy. However, this group of a little over 100 people was not deterred. We walked arm-in-arm, silently (except for the children...), with our mouths covered with the names of a victim or victims of police and para-police violence, down Market Street toward the St. Louis Arch. As you can see in my pictures, this isn't just a group of black people. This is truly St. Louis UNITED. There were people of various races and ethnicities. The ages ranged from 0 to somewhere in the septuagenarian range. There were people of various physicalities and physical disabilities.
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| You notice how that microphone says "5" (as in "News 5")? The same reporter during those interviews later stated during the 5 p.m. Channel 5 newscast that he could not confirm that there were protesters in the area. Apparently the fact that he was with us from beginning to end was not enough to confirm our presence. See, people? This is why you need to have a healthy skepticism and distrust of mainstream media. |
Now here's where trolls on Twitter and people within the Arch who have unrecognized and unresolved race bias issues differ from what people outside the Arch will tell you. Trolls on Twitter who were never there have been arguing that the group was violent, raging, and vandalized the Arch (seriously). Anyone with half a brain knows that isn't true. In fact, you can witness it for yourself. I videoed various parts of the protest, and if you look on Twitter for #STLunited, you will see several people who live-blogged or later videostreamed parts of the protest. In addition to what you can see for yourself, here's what I can tell you: three of the protesters actually went inside the Arch to use the restroom. Once inside, security had noticed there were protesters, and those women were locked inside. When you hear us chanting "Open the gates!" it started because people were asking for security to let those women out. By the way, the Arch is a free, federal landmark open to the public. Can they restrict entry and exit for security concerns? Of course. Is prohibiting a group from exercising their First Amendment rights in a nonviolent manner in a way that doesn't otherwise violate laws something that can be done at a federal landmark? Honestly, I don't know [I haven't done the research on that yet]. It's a non-issue anyway. Because I think there is reasonable disagreement as to whether there would have been a security risk (probably something as little as a fire hazard) from allowing a marching, chanting group of 100+ people inside. I'm not saying I agree that there was a risk; I just agree that I see both arguments, and so we don't even really get to the First Amendment issue.
What I can tell you, however, is that this protest was most certainly non-violent. As I mentioned, this was a varied group, which included a lot of families. We had a woman in a wheelchair, a man on crutches, etc. This group marched in total silence [again, minus the children, who don't really get that whole "silent" part of the silent protest] for nearly two hours before we reached the Arch. Yes, there were guys in Anonymous masks. And, honestly, the most annoying thing they did the entire time was smoke in close proximity to children and senior citizens. There was only one person in this entire group who raised my antennae, and I was side-eyeing and closely watching that guy the entire time. And, yes, this guy was the one who, after chants I wasn't too uncomfortable having my children hear, decided to lead a much smaller group in a round of "Fuck the Police." That's one guy, out of over 100. There's always one. And that one person is not the group. He was not representative of the group at all. In fact, he didn't even march in close proximity to the rest of us (and I have the picture to prove that too). [ETA: I suppose I should clarify, I case I get another troll like the one who thought I would publish his comment (WRONG) that we left the area as soon as that started and that several people told that person and his small group that it wasn't the time or place for that]
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| The police, who kept a safe distance from the group (because no crimes were broken, HELLO) stay close to the guy I was side-eyeing. |
The Arch was not vandalized. We created a "memorial" using the pieces of colored tape that had previously been on our mouths. Easily removable. Does not destroy property. It is no different from when people leave signs, flowers, and other memorabilia on public property. Anyone who calls that vandalism is a moron (and probably also an overreaching racist, but I digress...). As I mentioned on the Pop Culture Mom Facebook page, I'm a government attorney. Do you really think I would participate in or encourage any sort of activity that would violate federal law? Of course not. Any suggestion otherwise is preposterous.
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| tape bearing the names of victims of police violence |
Correction of some of the falsities I've heard aside, this was a beautiful moment. I actually cannot find adequate words to express how moved I was by the entire experience. Seeing all of these different people come together was amazing. People who didn't even know each other and hadn't even learned each other's names, were linking their arms and hands to stand united. People were helping each other (picking up the wheelchair together, offering food, holding things to allow someone to tend to children, checking on the children and talking to them, etc.). This total group of mostly strangers came together for one common reason—wanting to make sure that law enforcement and the general citizenry realize that black lives matter too—and it was amazing.
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| Super Girl has the best seat in the house |
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| Arms linked marching toward the Arch |
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| Strangers united for a common good |
Even more than the experience itself, I was so glad to have shared it with the Pop Culture Girls. Due to all of the craziness going on and the unavoidable conversations in our house that Little Diva is entirely too smart (and too nosey) to miss. I had to have "the talk" with her earlier than anticipated. We had the talk over Thanksgiving. More on that later. But suffice to say, even at six, she understands the gross unfairness in treating people differently because of their skin color, and she can't believe that there are adults who think it is perfectly fine to support a broken system that systematically treats "the other" unfairly. So, despite the fact that she was not exactly down for all that walking (and none of us were down for the cold and the hail), Little Diva was glad she did the protest. One of the gentlemen who had been gathering everyone together when we initially arrived asked Little Diva at the end what she thought of everything, and she answered "Pretty good. Pretty good for my first protest."
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| "Pretty good for my first protest." |
I'm proud of my kids for sticking with the elements and trudging along. I'm proud of my oldest daughter for understanding these issues that are so much bigger than anyone should have to understand at six years old [and, sadly, it turns out she "gets it" a lot better than many adults I've seen online]. I'm proud of my husband (and his entire family, amazingly) for recognizing and trying to fight against his white privilege to make a better world for, not just our children, but every child in this country. I'm proud of everyone who was there.
Every time I get overwhelmed with despair, I look at the pictures from this march and I realize that there are people out there fighting to make a difference. I'm not sure if their work will change everything, but they're bound to change some minds. Every little bit counts!
And I Shall Buy a Thousand Swiffers!
Have you seen the new Swiffer commercial?? The one with Zack Rukavina,the guy who lost his arm to cancer, and his beautiful multiracial family?? I almost cried tears of joy when I saw it this morning. We already have a Swiffer mop, but we will never buy generic refills again. More money to Swiffer and its wonderful ad team!!
I am the Biracial Whisperer (or Maybe I have Biracialdar?)
I was watching 'Suits' this morning and actually paying close attention for a change. There was a close up of Rachel (played by Meghan Markle) taking the LSATs. I saw her freckles and hair and immediately and excitedly blurted (out loud, sadly), "OMG! She's biracial!" For some reason, I always had assumed she was Hispanic, even though "Zane" (her character's last name) isn't a particularly Latino name. But there wasn't any mistaking the HD closeup. I Googled "Meghan Markle biracial," and BOOM, there it was. Just like my kids, her mom is black, and her father is white of Irish descent.
Mariah Carey... Jennifer Beals... Rashida Jones... Soledad O'Brien... Vin Diesel... Wentworth Miller... and now Rachel Markle. Even before seeing some "OMG! She looks white, but SURPRISE!!" article, I could tell they were biracial. Look, I know I am not the only one. There are probably a lot of you reading this going, "Duh! I knew too!" But, just like when a celebrity comes out as gay or lesbian, there's something oddly wonderful and fantastic to me about finding the closeted (whether it is simply because the issue has never been raised or addressed because here's no necessity to it or because a record company or TV producer intentionally wanted to leave the impression that the performer is white) biracial people.
I also get people who don't understand my excitement about these discoveries. But for those people, when someone asks you if or implies that you are the nanny of your own child, you'll get it.
Parenthood: "She's So White!"
While I was party planning this afternoon, I started watching last night's episode of 'Parenthood'. Barely five minutes in, I fell over laughing when Crosby held up his newly-born daughter and exclaimed with shock, "She's so white!" And 10 minutes in, I nearly died again when Grandpa Braverman said, "She's even lighter than she was in the hospital!" and then expressed his confusion at the term light-skinned. Ah... All of this is so familiar to parents of biracial children.
Pop Culture Dad and I had the same reaction when Little Diva was born. I mean, we knew she would likely be born much more pale than she would eventually end up. Many black children (particularly with lighter-skinned parents) and most biracial kids are. My doula with Little Diva has biracial grandchildren, and she tried to prep us for the possibility before we went into the delivery room. This wasn't an earth shattering revelation. I was a pale child, and I've been around plenty of black and biracial newborns. I don't know any black person who would be particularly shocked by the revelation that some black and biracial babies will be darn-near white at birth.
What Pop Culture Dad and I were not prepared for, however, was that our then-blue eyed (now green), pale child, would pretty much stay pale—very pale—for years. My multi-ethnic mother comes from a long line of "high yella" women. My dad's mother was also very beige. But I'm brown. And my mother-in-law is a pretty deep tan. My husband isn't even that pale himself. Somehow, though, for the first three-and-a-half years of her life, our baby girl was lighter than her father.
This was a real problem for me when Little Diva was a baby. Despite the fact that she looks just like my toddler pictures, when it was just the two of us, people often asked me if she was my child or just assumed I was the nanny. I was so glad when she learned to talk and started calling me "Mommy" in public, so the people who were staring and trying to figure things out would look away. I also bought her several shirts that said things like "She's my mommy, not the nanny!" or which hadn't picture of a vanilla/chocolate ice cream cone baring the slogan "Swirled!" Even now that Little Diva has (finally) got a little bit of a tan, her skin color is often a topic of conversation among people. Annoying...
All of this "nanny" and "OMG, she looks white" [she does not] stuff is perhaps why immediately after giving birth to Super Girl, I exclaimed, "Oh, thank goodness! She has some color!" No one wants to be called the nanny.
I'll be interested to see as the season plays out, if Jasmine will experience any of the "Uh... Is that... um... your baby,... or, uh... are you the, um....?" nonsense that so many black mothers of biracial (or just light-skinned) babies deal with. If there are any black writers (or white writers with biracial families) on staff, I imagine it's coming.
Two Things Y'all Apparently Didn't Know About Wentworth Miller
I was (and still am) perplexed. I mean, didn't everyone know he's gay by now? I thought that closet door had long been open and shut behind him. He didn't have some huge coming out cover story on People or anything, but most people don't. He's never tried to lie about his sexual orientation and never had a beard. Heck, I remember having this discussion with some women in my former mommy group four years ago. And that discussion revealed another thing those women apparently didn't know about Wentworth Miller (and I found a lot of people were as in the dark as they were).
So here are two facts that I have known about Wentworth Miller since his Prison Break days (even though I never watched that show; I only admired his beautiful face and body), and which I have wrongly assumed everyone knew:
1. Wentworth Miller is gay.
Here's a picture with his boyfriend (actor Luke MacFarlane) from 2007 described back then in an article as him coming out.
2. Wentworth Miller is black (well, half-black).1
Bam! Minds blown.
Well, unless you were paying attention the past few years, in which case, this is all duuuuuuuuh!
FN 1. Also, FYI, other black/half-black celebrities that no one seems to know (incognegro?) are: Jennifer Beals, Vin Diesel, Rashida Jones, Soledad O'Brien, Slash, Mariah Carey, Pete Wentz, Cash Warren, Carol Channing...
Keyshia Cole and the One-Drop Rule
So apparently R&B artist Keyshia Cole started a s***-storm of controversy recently when she went on BET's 106 & Park and claimed that she wasn't initially sure how she felt about being on "Black Women Rock," because she's biracial. Madame Noire asked, "I think it's fine if she wants to point out that she's bi-racial, but one, where is this coming from, and two, are you not still black by all one drop rule standards? And are you really going to act like the rest of society doesn't still see you as a black woman and you can now no longer understand the need to celebrate black girls doing good things. C'mon now?". While I agree with M.N. in part, I can't go for the one-drop rule assessment.
For those unfamiliar, the one-drop rule is the U.S. law (and only the U.S.; no other country is so backwards), dating back to Jim Crow, which states that one-drop of negro blood makes someone black. As you can imagine, this law was invented largely to prevent miscegenation (that's "race mixing"). Not really sure how enforceable that was a hundred of years ago without discernible proof of one's lineage, as the one-drop rule resulted in lots of people "passing" for white in order to benefit from the more favorable status afforded by law and society in general.
Seeing as Jim Crow laws have been eradicated, and we live in an increasingly multiracial and multiethnic society, I don't really see a benefit to the one-drop rule in today's society. In fact, the one-drop rule seems to be invoked by black folks more than any other group. Yes, we generally tend to claim everyone and their grandmama as black.
While there are many bi- or multi-racial/ethnic celebrities who are perceived as black merely because of their appearance--and to some degree because of their associations [Pres. Barack Obama, Halle Berry, Derek Jeter, Alicia Keys, Dwayne Johnson, Tracey Ellis-Ross, Tia and Tamara Mowrey, Bob Marley, Carmelo Anthony, Lenny Kravitz, Lisa Bonet, Maya Rudolph, Faith Evans, Jimi Hendrix, Jordin Sparks, Kelis, Shemar Moore, and Stacy Dash just to name a few], there are also those bi-/multi-racial/ethnic whose appearances defy a label of just "black"--even to the point where many don't even know they are biracial until they come out of the color closet, so to speak [Mariah Carey, Rashida Jones, Jennifer Beals, Vin Diesel, Cash Warren, Wentworth Miller, Santino Rice and G&R's Slash are just a few who come to mind who have elicited the "OMG! I didn't know s/he was black!" response]. And what about the people who are (allegedly) "black" so far down the line that it shouldn't even matter, since no reasonable person would ever perceive them as multi-racial, let alone "black" [thinking of, for example, People's Sexiest Man 2012, Channing Tatum, who is reportedly 1/16 black on his father's side]?
I personally think it is pretty pointless to assign someone a mono-racial identity for the comfort of one group who thinks that celebrities should acknowledge their blackness and only their blackness. Look, I get why we would or should want to do it in some circumstances. Without the one-drop rule, instead of America having its first black president, we have our first half-black POTUS. Without the one-drop rule, there has never been a great black pro-golfer (not that we have a great one now, in either case, right?), just a half-black pro-golfer. However, self-identification--particularly when that self-identification is grounded in some reality--is important, and even if we allow someone their (right to a) half-black or quarter-black identity, we have still made cultural progress. President Obama self-identifies as black, because he is viewed as and treated as a black man [No worries! We still have our first "black" president--sixth if you still insist we go by the one-drop rule]. However, he acknowledges his biracial status, because to do so is an insult to the white mother and grandparents who raised him [as opposed to his African father who was largely non-present in his life]. Halle Berry was raised by her white mother, but that same mother raised her as a "black woman," because she realized that is how most of society would perceive her [And, similarly, Halle has insisted that her one-quarter black daughter is also a black woman by society's standards--despite her light hair and blue eyes]. Mariah Carey, for reasons unknown, self-identifies as black, and occasionally as "tri-racial." Dwayne Johnson self-identifies as both black and Samoan. Tiger Woods self-identifies as Cablanasian (seriously)--and that's his prerogative. The thing is, asking someone to self-identify as only one race--regardless of their life or familial experiences is not the business of the outside world.
My daughters are too young to understand the concept of race, let alone begin to self-identify. Pop Culture Preschooler only knows racial differences from a crayon-box perspective. She has declared before that she, daddy, and her sister have white faces, and mommy has a brown-face. Of course, even on the crayon-box perspective, she is incorrect, and we have corrected her that she and daddy have beige faces, while her little sister and mommy have brown faces (or, more accurately, Pop Culture Toddler2 has a tan face); but ultimately none of this will prove important as she grows up. People will put her into one box or another, and regardless of what box or boxes she checks for herself, someone will always question her choices. If PCP checks the "black" box with her pale skin, green eyes, and naturally highlighted hair (though with black features she received from me), there will be those who question whether she is "black enough." If she checks the "white" box, many will accuse her of being self-loathing [no lie, I may have that fear myself]. If she checks both boxes, then there will still be some people [including the State of Texas on the forms we filled out at the hospital!] who will consider that an unacceptable answer, and forcing her to choose only one--more often than not, the "black" box. In short, no matter what she chooses, she will lose before she's even began. Pop Culture Toddler2 has the opposite problem. Even though her features and hair came from her Caucasian, American Irish father, she undoubtedly has my coloring. Without seeing both parents present, most people don't even realize she's biracial, and when she is only with my husband, people are as confused as they were when I used to be alone with Pop Culture Preschooler as a baby--yes, I was actually confused as the nanny on several occasions. While few strangers would probably question if PCT2 self-identified as "black," any other classification may raise eyebrows and accusations. This would, of course, be unfair, because she, just like her older sister, is very much a product of both of her parents.
We will cross these bridges when we get to them. In any event, I don't think that the "one-drop rule" is the way to go, because it is not up to society to decide how a bi- or multi-racial person views him or herself (no matter how much it may irk us). Not to mention, it just gets into absurd and ridiculous results when you are talking about someone who can barely trace their black heritage, who would never be identified by society in general as a black person, and who will never know or experience any amount of discrimination as they would if they were actually a minority.
Now... as far as Keyshia Cole... though her answer was thought-provoking insofar as the general topic, it was quite a head-scratcher for me. Why? Well, because Keyshia Cole doesn't know who her daddy is. By every report, her mother was a drug addict, and didn't know who she was with during her crack-fueled binges. There has been a lot of speculation about who her father is, but no definitive answers. Maybe he was a black man, maybe he wasn't. But the bottom line is Keyshia neither knows who her father is nor has she had an experience of being raised in a multi-cultural household or society. She's an R&B artist who is largely unknown to anyone who doesn't follow R&B. Moreover, she gave this statement on Black Entertainment Television, which is... well... the only channel that plays her videos. So... you know.... Self-identification really only works when, as stated above, there's some basis in reality. I mean, I could call myself half-Vietnamese, but that doesn't make it true or reflective of my life experiences.
Ignoring the Keyshia Cole craziness, what about the rest of you? What do you think about the one-drop rule and self-identification? Should we leave it up to individuals to (within reason) identify themselves; or is there some societal value in forcing the "black" label on half-, quarter- and 1/16th black individuals, regardless of how they seem themselves?
Halle Berry, A Model of Feminism
You may have heard the good news: Halle Berry has proven that feminism is not dead!
Oh, sorry. I realize that was confusing. After all, Halle Berry, known from flitting from one (abusive or just otherwise dysfunctional) relationship to the next, whose career heights are directly proportionate to her looks and how much boobage she flashes rather than her actual acting talent (which is negligible at best), who thinks she's haunted by the spirits of other beautiful women from the past, and who is a notoriously bad driver, is not exactly the first person to come to mind when you mention "feminist."
However, this week, Ms. Berry, with the help of the family court system, achieved one of the goals of old school feminism: that men and women be treated equally. You see, this week, a judge ordered that Halle Berry pay her baby daddy, Gabriel Aubrey, $20,000 a month in child support. This amount was requested by her ex-love on the basis that their daughter, Nahla, should be able to live in the lifestyle with which she had become accustomed during those times she is with Daddy. Hey, it worked for Camille Grammer, right?
So thanks, Halle (and Gabriel), for helping keep us equal.
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Oh, sorry. I realize that was confusing. After all, Halle Berry, known from flitting from one (abusive or just otherwise dysfunctional) relationship to the next, whose career heights are directly proportionate to her looks and how much boobage she flashes rather than her actual acting talent (which is negligible at best), who thinks she's haunted by the spirits of other beautiful women from the past, and who is a notoriously bad driver, is not exactly the first person to come to mind when you mention "feminist."
However, this week, Ms. Berry, with the help of the family court system, achieved one of the goals of old school feminism: that men and women be treated equally. You see, this week, a judge ordered that Halle Berry pay her baby daddy, Gabriel Aubrey, $20,000 a month in child support. This amount was requested by her ex-love on the basis that their daughter, Nahla, should be able to live in the lifestyle with which she had become accustomed during those times she is with Daddy. Hey, it worked for Camille Grammer, right?
So thanks, Halle (and Gabriel), for helping keep us equal.
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My Jillian Michaels Mini-Rant
Oh, are you here because you thought I was ranting against Jillian Michaels? Boy are you out of luck.
Look, personally, I'm no Jillian Michaels super fan. I didn't watch The Biggest Loser [I've seen it maybe three times ever]. I got her Wii Fitness game a couple years ago, and it bored me to tears -- now I know why it was on sale. I don't dislike her though. And, quite honestly, on a daily basis, I don't even think about her. I imagine most people don't.
All of the sudden, though, Jillian becomes a mom, and she's everywhere you look. Last week, when I saw the first picture of her adopted daughter and newborn son, as they say on Ni-Hao, Kai-Lan, "It made my heart feel super happy!". I'm one of those mommy-geeks, so any time I see a picture of a happy mother and child, I'm ecstatic. Even moreso than my usual mom-geekdom, however, I was overjoyed because Ms. Michaels and her partner adopted a child from Haiti and their biological baby [yes, I said "their." DEAL WITH IT] looks (though I am not sure if she is) biracial.
And then I read the comments on the article on People.com, and my super happy heart got super stabby. Forgive me, I'm still training myself to ignore the comments. I have to keep reminding myself that the anonymity of the internet makes every darn fool come out and show off their ignorance. I have to tell myself that most people don't think like the people who comment on news (including entertainment news) articles... If I let myself think that most of the world thinks like the comment world, I truly could not live here. I could not.
Apparently people of the Comment World fall into the following camps: (1) normal people who are happy to see a happy mother and that people are adopting [these are my peeps]; (2) people who are upset her child(ren are) is black; and (3) people who, most of whom weren't even aware of Jillian Michaels' sexuality prior to this point (I know I wasn't; didn't care either way. Still don't.), who can't get over the "OMG, she's gay! And why do gay people have babies? And is she going to make these babies gay? And that child isn't hers if she didn't carry it or contribute an egg!" camp. These are the people I'm ranting against. In a word: Seriously?!?!?!
First, how in the world does it affect you at all if Jillian Michaels and her partner, any other gay couple in the world, or even one singular gay person, has a child? You can't make someone gay by raising them with a gay parent or two--if you could, then straight people wouldn't keep having so many gay children, now would they? And even if you could "make" someone gay, who the eff cares?? How does anyone else's sexuality affect you on a personal basis, unless that person is the one with whom you are partnered?
I, for one, am glad to see children being raised in a loving home, and I am especially glad to see black children being adopted. Unless or until someone else adopts a needy child, I don't want to hear boo about what you think about another couple's right to adopt. NOTHING. Haters will hate, but they certainly won't do anything to help, now will they?
So, although I was Jillian Michaels neutral, consider me a new fan... of her as a mother. To those of you out there who are negatively and hyper concerned about the gender of the person she loves or the color of her children's skin, go get a life, why dontcha?
(photo by People magazine)
Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Look, personally, I'm no Jillian Michaels super fan. I didn't watch The Biggest Loser [I've seen it maybe three times ever]. I got her Wii Fitness game a couple years ago, and it bored me to tears -- now I know why it was on sale. I don't dislike her though. And, quite honestly, on a daily basis, I don't even think about her. I imagine most people don't.
All of the sudden, though, Jillian becomes a mom, and she's everywhere you look. Last week, when I saw the first picture of her adopted daughter and newborn son, as they say on Ni-Hao, Kai-Lan, "It made my heart feel super happy!". I'm one of those mommy-geeks, so any time I see a picture of a happy mother and child, I'm ecstatic. Even moreso than my usual mom-geekdom, however, I was overjoyed because Ms. Michaels and her partner adopted a child from Haiti and their biological baby [yes, I said "their." DEAL WITH IT] looks (though I am not sure if she is) biracial.
And then I read the comments on the article on People.com, and my super happy heart got super stabby. Forgive me, I'm still training myself to ignore the comments. I have to keep reminding myself that the anonymity of the internet makes every darn fool come out and show off their ignorance. I have to tell myself that most people don't think like the people who comment on news (including entertainment news) articles... If I let myself think that most of the world thinks like the comment world, I truly could not live here. I could not.
Apparently people of the Comment World fall into the following camps: (1) normal people who are happy to see a happy mother and that people are adopting [these are my peeps]; (2) people who are upset her child(ren are) is black; and (3) people who, most of whom weren't even aware of Jillian Michaels' sexuality prior to this point (I know I wasn't; didn't care either way. Still don't.), who can't get over the "OMG, she's gay! And why do gay people have babies? And is she going to make these babies gay? And that child isn't hers if she didn't carry it or contribute an egg!" camp. These are the people I'm ranting against. In a word: Seriously?!?!?!
First, how in the world does it affect you at all if Jillian Michaels and her partner, any other gay couple in the world, or even one singular gay person, has a child? You can't make someone gay by raising them with a gay parent or two--if you could, then straight people wouldn't keep having so many gay children, now would they? And even if you could "make" someone gay, who the eff cares?? How does anyone else's sexuality affect you on a personal basis, unless that person is the one with whom you are partnered?
I, for one, am glad to see children being raised in a loving home, and I am especially glad to see black children being adopted. Unless or until someone else adopts a needy child, I don't want to hear boo about what you think about another couple's right to adopt. NOTHING. Haters will hate, but they certainly won't do anything to help, now will they?
So, although I was Jillian Michaels neutral, consider me a new fan... of her as a mother. To those of you out there who are negatively and hyper concerned about the gender of the person she loves or the color of her children's skin, go get a life, why dontcha?
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Pop Culture Baby's Birth Story
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| Another Pop Culture star is born |
Let the story begin...
Dou Me, Baby
First, let me go way back. When I had Pop Culture Toddler, I enlisted the services of a doula for both during and after labor. Rhonda was invaluable. So I knew as soon as I got pregnant with Pop Culture Baby that I was going to go the doula route again. Rhonda had since retired from the baby doula game. I knew her daughter had stepped into her place, since one of my friends used Rhonda's daughter as her postpartum doula for her twins. I could have used her daughter. Instead, I decided to go the difficult route and get an out-of-state doula. Now, this wasn't something completely on a whim. Christi (or Diva Doula, as I now feel like calling her) is one of the moms from one of my WTE expecting boards. Her youngest daughter was born within days of PCT. She was even our board leader at some point and is currently one of the admins of our Facebook group. So while I didn't "know" her, I have known her for over three years. She had already served as the doula for some of the other November 2008 moms, and I wanted Diva Doula to "dou" me, too. As you can expect, Pop Culture Dad and pretty much everyone else thought I was crazy. But with Pop Culture Toddler, my midwives had predicted when I would go into labor, down to the weekend, and with a 13-hour labor the first time, I was feeling pretty confident about being able to get Diva Doula here in time.
Then of course came the GD diagnosis. Because I ended up on medication to control my blood sugar, my midwives told me that if I didn't have Pop Culture Baby early, as I did PCT, they were going to induce me at 39 weeks. Everyone, myself included was fairly confident, though, that I would go early again. Boy were we wrong. Apparently I controlled my sugars almost too well. So instead of growing a behemoth baby and ginormous placenta, I was forming a fairly regular placenta and (what was to me, anyway), a teeny baby. At my Level 2 ultrasound, PCB was measuring a few weeks behind, and was 18th percentile. PCB was predicted to be six pounds if I went full term. Because of the gestational diabetes, I had ultrasounds every three weeks. While my fundal height was always perfectly on track, the ultrasounds always showed a baby that was measuring a couple of weeks behind. Kind of weird considering that our 3D ultrasound revealed really chubby cheeks. *shrug*. So week by week, my confidence going into labor at 38 weeks again began to wane. And then...
Long Labor? False Labor? WTH Knows?
Ten days before my due date, I started having really regular contractions. They were frequent enough that I started timing them. First they were far apart. Then as the day went on, they sped up to 10 minutes apart, and then 8. I e-mailed Diva Doula and asked her for reassurance that I could have contractions 8 minutes apart for a number of days. Based on the ultrasound I had just the week before, PCB was still measuring small, though better than before (now 25th percentile), but PCB was just small enough that I wasn't exactly thrilled at the idea of going into labor early and having a teeny tiny little baby. Diva Doula told me to lie down on my left side for an hour or so, drink a lot of water and see if my contractions slowed down or stopped. They didn't. Then she told me to just say the word, and she would get on a plane; her hubby was getting ready to get her on a plane. We talked it through for a while and decided, just in case, to get her on a plane. If she was here for a couple of days, that was fine. Better than her missing the birth altogether.
Diva Doula came in, and I continued to have contractions. Then, at some point right before I went to bed, they disappeared, only to come back with a royal vengeance while I was sleeping. I was afraid I would go into labor in the wee hours of the morning; but at least Pop Culture Dad and Diva Doula were there. The next morning, I told Pop Culture Dad to go on to work, and I would call him if he needed to come home. By then, I had steady contractions 5 minutes apart. He later told me that he got ribbed all day for being at work while his wife was in labor. During the day, Diva Doula and I tried to help the labor along. We went geocaching. We drove around. We walked. At one point when we were walking around my neighborhood, the contractions got so bad I had trouble walking. We were actually getting close to the point where my midwives told me to call them back. But I didn't feel like I should go to the hospital yet. So we went back to the house where I decided to go relax in the tub... and the contractions disappeared again. WTH? Same pattern as the night before, my contractions got frequent, horrible and painful in the middle of the night, but no magic happened.
The next day was my midwife appointment. The midwife with whom we met, Mary, thought it was weird that I had contractions that steady and close that got stronger and then went nowhere, but it wasn't unheard of. She checked me, and it turned out I hadn't made any progress from the week before. I was still a fingertip dilated and about 60% effaced. So I basically had two days of contractions for nothing. At this point, I was days away from being 39 weeks. It was time to talk induction dates. Mary told me point-blank that, two days of false labor notwithstanding, Pop Culture Baby was not ready to go anywhere. An induction date at the early end of 39 weeks would not be a good idea. I began to get fearful that an induction date at any time would not be a good idea. But seeing as I only had a one week window in which to give birth (gee, thanks, GD), I picked my due date as my induction date. Might as well make it to 40 weeks, right? Mary agreed to give me Prepadil the next week to see if that helped move things along so I could avoid induction. It was a great start, but still pretty sucky. I went back to my car and cried. Hard. Diva Doula was such awesome support (a necessity when you feel like a complete tool, like I did). We went walking and geocaching some more, in hope of sparking more labor. Nada. That day, I decided the GD diet was off. Let me tell you, I really enjoyed my comfort-Frosty that day.
Diva Doula went home the next morning, and I went to the hospital for my Prepadil. Mary told me to go walking (preferably around a mall with a credit card) to see if I could get some contractions going. Nada. When I went in a few days later for my midwife appointment [now after a full week and a couple days of "false" labor, which felt pretty damn real], I was ready to tell them not to induce me at all. I was really afraid of being one of those ladies who has a horrible induction experience and ends up either having an awful, long labor or winding up getting a c-section. I had another ultrasound. Pop Culture Baby had a growth spurt, and was suddenly estimated at 50th percentile. Dawn, the midwife that day, checked me again. I had made a wee bit of progress, but not much. In fact, I had gone from 60% effaced to 50% effaced. WTF?? Dawn, however, was convinced that I was ready, and that an induction would go beautifully. As some added insurance, though, Dawn stripped my membranes and scheduled me for another Prepadil the next day. She warned me that the stripping may do nothing, or it could send me into labor. You just never know. Later that day, I was in the grocery store, having the worst contractions to date. I actually felt pretty good about going into labor. I had bloody show that night. The next morning, I ended up calling my midwives at 4 a.m. to see if I should even go in for the second dose of Prepadil, because I was having contractions 6 minutes apart. I was told that even if I ended up not going into labor, they could not administer Prepadil with my contractions that close together. So, basically, I just had to wait and see if I went into labor. This should be no surprise: I didn't.
Eviction Day
Diva Doula came back the next day. We basically snacked on labor cookies and got together snacks and everything I needed to go to the hospital. Diva Doula also taught Pop Culture Dad various pressure points and techniques to help me during labor. We talked about how my labor went with PCT, and for the first time ever, I realized that (save for my water breaking on its own), that I had made zero progress until I was given the dreaded pitocin monster. It was possible that I'm one of those unlucky ladies who will contract for days and days without any real progress, absent medical intervention.
The next day was eviction day. And, I won't lie: I was terrified. I had always planned on having a completely natural birth. Now, after more than a week of false labor, I knew I was going to get stuck with pitocin whether I liked it or not. And, let's face it, my confidence in my own ability to face pitocin without an epidural was very very low. I was also terrified, after having such a long period of unproductive labor, that I was going to end up either in labor for 24 hours or with a c-section... or worse, both.
My induction was scheduled for 7 a.m. on the 29th. Pop Culture Dad, Diva Doula and I left the house at the buttcrack of dawn and started heading (late) to the hospital, only to get a call as we were getting on the freeway that there were no beds available, so I'd have to call back in a few hours to see if I could come in. They ended up telling me to come to the hospital between 11 and 11:30. We got there at 11ish and had to wait a while. They hooked me up to the pit drip around 1. When I went in, I was 3 cm dilated and about 50% effaced. Pop Culture Baby was at a -3 station. So, yeah, not even close to anything happening.
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| Leaving for the hospital... again |
A few hours went by, and the contractions were getting worse, but it still looked like I had a long time to go. Pop Culture Dad and Diva Doula were fantastically helping me manage my pain and sneaking me food and drinks. At 5:30 or so, I posted a message to the impatient mommies on our parenting group that the "aunties" were going to have to simmer down, because Pop Culture Baby wasn't making an appearance any time soon. The ladies were all on gender watch and tired of not knowing what kind of equipment PCB was bearing. Around 6 or 6:30 , my midwife checked me, and I was 100% effaced, but still only about 3 cm (but this time a "loose" 3 instead of a hard one) and at a -1. She asked if I wanted to have my water broken. We debated it for a while, especially the warning about how much it would suck. Eventually, in the interest of not being in labor all freaking night, I told her to go for it. Almost immediately after she broke my water, things really kicked into gear [shit got real, y'all!].
At some point around 7 p.m., I was just done. Diva Doula and PCD were absolutely fantastic, but I knew I had barely made any progress before all of the madness started, and I couldn't imagine being like that another four hours or whatever. So I started asking my midwife if it was too late to get an epi. She said "probably," and she and Diva Doula kept encouraging me to keep on, at least for a while. **WARNING WARNING HERE COMES THE TMI/YOU'LL-KNOW-TOO-MUCH-ABOUT
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| Thanks, Debbie! |
Honestly, I had absolutely no idea what was going on at this point. Diva Doula had to fill me in on some of the finer details later. After PCB popped out (literally), Debbie held her up so we could see the gender. Even looking, I had no idea [I swear I know what the parts look like!]. I think I was just still surprised there was a baby there. I still didn't know if I had a son or a daughter until Pop Culture Dad announced, "It's a girl!". I vaguely remember saying at some point after my eyes focused and I noticed that there was in fact a baby there, "Oh! And she has some color! Yay!". I had another beautiful little girl. A 7 pound, 12 ounce, 20.5" little princess (who, other than her much smaller size, slightly darker skin and brown eyes, and fantastic dimples, is an exact replica of her big sister, who is a pretty close carbon copy of me).
One of the best parts came after we were released to my room. My mom and Pop Culture Toddler were already there waiting on us. When the nurse wheeled me in with Pop Culture Baby, PCT walked up to us and said, "Hi, [Baby]. I'm your big sister." Tears. Flowing.
Everybody Wants the Diva to Dou Them
I didn't go into a lot of details of how Diva Doula helped me before and during my labor. For one, it's hard to go into details after the fact. I just remember her there duing the labor, constantly moving and things to do to help out, and her encouraging me along the way. I vaguely remember the little pep talks. They're all fuzzy right now, but I remember at the time, they really helped get me through. To use one of her favorite phrases, Diva Doula (aka Mrs. Christi Mooney of Serenity Birth in GA) was just AWESOME SAUCE. There is absolutely no way I would have been able to do a pitocin-induced, pain medication-free birth without her support. And I probably would have lost my sanity before the main event, too. Remember pregnant ladies: Google is not your friend; but a good doula is.
In fact, Diva Doula was such awesome sauce that the midwife on-call the morning after I gave birth told me how much Debbie had bragged about her, and they wanted to know what service she was with and how to refer her to other clients. You can imagine their disappointment when I told them she's not local. Thanks to Christi's dou-ing, my midwives all gave me the "Rockstar" award for the week.
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| Diva Doula and Pop Culture Baby |
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| First day home with my girls |
I am sure someone has to wonder if I had any media going on during labor, especially considering I once claimed (okay, okay, last year) I'd love to have "Bohemian Rhapsody" playing in the background when I gave birth. We did not have the iPod going. Darn shame, too, considering the short amount of time I spent pushing actually would have left us with a little "Bohemian Rhapsody" left over -- not that anyone would have had time to cue the song up! I actually did get to follow through with my media birth plan, though. We watched Knocked Up for the first two hours of the induction. And, as I had planned a couple of months before, we got our NPH fix. I packed a few DVDs of How I Met Your Mother, but while I was having my awful, water-breaking-induced contractions, we were watching (Ha! "Watching") Dr. Horrible's Sing-along Blog. Good thing we brought our portable DVD player. The L&D room only had VCRs. Oh, how I wish I was kidding!
It's a....
GIRL
Pop Culture Baby made her arrival Thursday evening. Details and birth story to come....
On “Meeting” My Friends
For those of you who actually read and pay attention to all or most of my posts, I imagine a few of you may be thinking, “Well, it’s the end of June. Whatever happened to that April meetup with the other Mommy Bloggers? Ooh.. I bet it got cancelled or didn’t go well.” If there’s anyone who thinks this way, I really couldn’t blame you. In fact, I went to a party last week, and someone point blank asked me if this meetup had ever even happened. I didn’t blame him either. After all, it’s sort of weird if something goes well that it wouldn’t be discussed, right? Well, it went well, fabulous in fact. I’ve just been lazy in getting around to actually writing about it [compare this to Brittney’s three posts about it…]. And, honestly, I’ve been trying to figure out exactly how to word how I feel.
In a sense, I feel like I should have so much to say, because the weekend was so awesome that I should actually have to edit myself to keep the gushing and word count down. On the other hand, meeting up with two of my closest friends who I had never, prior to April 8th, seen in person, felt so natural and so normal, that it felt like any other day out of my life – only in a vacation setting. Honestly, once we got past the initial “crap, are we going to get along in person?” it was like I was just going on vacation with two of my best friends and their families, nothing more.
Without going into too much detail, we were all nervous about finally meeting even after we had all arrived in Phoenix. Turns out, we had nothing to worry about. Everyone got along pretty well. Of course, every now and then we had to resolve the occasional toddler dispute over toys or had trouble figuring out dinner plans for a group of 11 (well, 10.5), but other than that we had a fantastic time. The first night, we hung out around the hotel and ate pizza. On Saturday, since it was raining, we took the kids to Amazing Jakes, an indoor play place and let them run themselves ragged. Sunday, we went to the zoo and then the pool, before our farewell dinner at Bennihana.
The whole weekend was perfect, and Sunday night, we were all sad to go. Of course, this lead to the discussion of “What were we thinking??” making the trip so short. With two days basically reserved for travel, we only had two full days to spend time together. We decided to rectify the situation as soon as possible. Next summer, we’re planning on taking a trip to the Northeast, going to Kat’s neck of the woods. In November, everyone will come down to Texas, and we’ll all take a trip up to San Antonio to walk the River Walk and take the kids to Sea World [tickets have already been booked!!]. And in a wonderful showing of generosity and friendship (a gesture that makes me tear up every time I think about it), Brittney – who is just as pregnant as I – is throwing me a baby shower in August, and she and Kat will be staying with me for the weekend.
Of course, no matter how many vacations we plan, it seems like it’s never enough. Whenever one of us is having a hard day, the general feeling is usually, “I wish you guys were here.” However, even though we’re not physically near each other, we are always there for each other.
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