"You don't have no sense of humor -- and no sense neither!"
~ Fat Albert
Well. I officially stand corrected. Here I was thinking that me and the kids in my neighborhood were the only ones watching Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids in between Bugs Bunny and Soul Train.
Thanks to your comments -- and my focus group of at least five non-African American Grady doctors -- I now know for certain that Fat Albert and even Rudy with his soulful pimp walk were both being enjoyed by children of all cultures. Whaaaaat?
Mmm hmmm.
See? I was over here thinking that these were the only Cosby kids that crossed over to the mainstream.
My bad. I guess that cartoon was on CBS. And, yeah, once you got past all the crazy things they were wearing, there were some good take home messages. And one-liners.
"Man! You just like a school in the summertime! NO CLASS!"
~ Rudy from the Cosby Kids
Hmmm. Now I'm wondering what the whole fascination was with Bill Cosby and the name "Rudy." Does anybody know this? Yes, people. These are the important things I concern myself with before leaving work for the day.
Yup.
Hold up. Does this mean that y'all were also watching Soul Train and What's Happenin', too? Whaaaaat?
***
Happy Thursday.
And for people of all hues, I leave you with an excerpt from the Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids HALLOWEEN SPECIAL! YAAAY-YUUUUUHHH!!!
A few awesome quotes for you to share with your kids for next year, including a lesson from Albert himself:
"Hey, did y'all hear this story about the Surgeon General addressing your peoples at the Bronner Brothers' Hair Show? Talking about how y'all don't exercise because you don't want to mess your hair up?"
That was the question I threw out into the hair salon last week. I said it loud enough to get the attention of everyone from the sisters under the dryers to one in the shampoo bowl right on over to the ones getting hair chemically straightened and another who was there getting a few weave tracks sewn in. And saying "y'all" was appropriate because I, an African-American woman, was addressing a salon full of other African-American women--and that is exactly who the Surgeon General meant to reach with that message.
Black women. (Which technically she should know all about seeing as she is one.)
Okay, so actually this is a rather old story in the news. That Bronner Brothers' Hair Show, where all of this went down, was back in August of 2011. While I'm usually quite aware of a lot of current events, I admit that I didn't even hear about this whole Surgeon General thing until very recently. I was having a text exchange with my super-fit sista-friend (and former Grady chief resident) Julie J-M about a whole bunch of nothing and somehow that ended with her sharing this with me.
Here's our exchange, pretty much verbatim:
"Just gave my residents some copies of your article in the Annals. Just read it."
"Awww, thanks. Just told MY residents about the time you did one hundred push ups in a row post call. Far more interesting, you know."
"You are ridiculous. Workouts have been on hold for a few days -- trying to keep the press and curl from unfurling."
"Aaah. The plight of the black woman. Preach pastor."
"Have you blogged about that? Remember when the Surgeon General Regina Benjamin brought it up as a public health issue at the hair show last year?"
"Whaaaat?! That is SO my next post."
Julie JM with her natural hair (and the proof of the 100 push ups legend.)
After that, she sent me a link from the NY Times so that I could get the full scoop complete with the reader comments that followed.
Sister Surgeon General
So that's how I even got this on my radar. I figured the hair salon was a perfect place to bring this up--even if it was a year later.
"Yeah, girl! You just hearing about that? That lady took a lot of heat for saying that!" one of the stylists chimed in. "She was quoting studies and everything. Saying basically, y'all gone die from not wanting to sweat your hair out."
Everybody erupted in laughter.
Next came the peanut gallery--starting with the dryer ladies. One of them lifted up the hood and craned her neck over toward me. "Hold up, pump the brakes! What'd she say?"
A sister getting a relaxer worked into her hair answered before I could. "Basically, she went to the Bronner Brothers' Show and told that whole audience that part of the reason they all got big asses is 'cause they too damn worried about their hair." More laughter.
"Awww, hell naw!" Dryer-lady yelled out before pulling the hood back down.
When put that way, I guess it did sound kind of bad.
"Hold up. What the hell is the Surgeon General doing talking about people sweating out their hair? She need to be somewhere telling folks to say no to drugs or somethin'!" That statement came from somewhere in the room. Where, I do not know--which is the nature of how the beauty shop discussions eventually go.
"Well, I ain't mad at her for saying that. She kept it real, if you ask me." This one came from the shampoo bowl--I'm sure of it since the woman speaking was talking in a voice that was exaggeratedly loud to overcome the running water. "Real talk, I don't go to my boot camp on Friday since I get my hair done on Thursdays. And I pay for the full week!"
"I'm with you, girl. I skip my running club if it's drizzling outside. Forget that!"
And the amen choir went on and on. Finger snaps. High fives. All that.
Now. Let me digress for a bit just to seize this teachable moment in cultural competency.
*clearing throat*
Let's start with the Bronner Brothers' Hair Show, shall we? The Bronners are pretty much icons when it comes to black hair. It all started with the patriarch, Nathaniel Bronner, Sr. and his younger brother Arthur who started out selling hair care products in the forties, and subsequently had their very first Bronner Brothers' Hair Show in 1947 at the Butler Street YMCA--which is literally a rock's throw from Grady Hospital. (Jesse Hill Jr. Drive, the street that Grady is on, was originally called Butler Street up until 2002 or so.)
Anywho. The Bronner Brothers' Hair Shows have become the Mecca of all of those doing ethnic (read: black folks') hair. And yes. If you are wondering if this is the place where people make the multicolored helicopter hair art projects on stage, that answer is yes. However, beyond that, they also draw talented stylists from all over the world who do "regular" hairstyles, too. And so. You have to admit that it was pretty genius of Sister Surgeon General Benjamin to talk sistas, hair and health in that venue.
Mmmm hmmm.
Oh. The other cultural competency pearl is more an urban dictionary type thing. When that woman in the shampoo bowl said, "I ain't mad at her," I want to be sure that those reading that knew exactly what she meant.
*clearing throat again*
Literally, that statement could be simply a response to a real true concern that you've offended someone or gotten on their bad side.
"Josie, when you asked me if you'd gained weight I thought you wanted me to be honest. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings or if you're upset with me for saying yes."
"Oh no. I'm not mad at you at all, Marjorie. You were simply being a true friend."
That's one definition. Now. Let's get to the other definition--and proper use--of that same statement as used by 97.8% of all of the persons of color that I know. Better yet--how about something I heard in that very salon on that same day:
(While reading US magazine under the dryer. . . .)
"Girrrrl, Katie Holmes dipped out on your boy, didn't she? Had herself a crib on the side with a trap door and everything. Talk about Mission Impossible!"
"Chile please. I ain't EVEN mad at Katie for doing what she had to do. Ever since he acted a clown on Oprah's couch I knew that dude wasn't right."
"Yeah, girl. He acted crazy with that dude from the Today Show, too. Matt Lauer?"
"Mmmm hmmm, that was crazy.I ain't mad at her for disassociating herself with all that craziness."
"But he was cute when he was in that movie with Cuba Gooding, Jr."
"Oh yeah! Jerry MacGuire!"
"But you know he's short, though. Like five feet even, girl!"
"Whaaaat? She's tall! I bet she can't even wear heels with him!"
"Ugghh, now I really ain't mad at her!"
(See? Don't you now understand why I love the hair salon so much?)
Ah hem. Where was I?
Oh. Yeah. Sisters and their hair and exercise.
Let me just go right on the books and say it right now: I don't think I know a SINGLE black woman (with a kinky hair pattern and without a weave) that has not considered her coiff during exercise or inclement weather. To the point of CHANGING PLANS ALTOGETHER.
Yeah. I said it.
Case in point: Spinning. You know? The bicycling classes with the thumping music in just about every gym? Spinning is a GREAT workout. No question about it. It works the glutes, the abs, the thighs, the everything. If you do a Spin class, no doubt about it--you walk out of it feeling like you can throw a car over your head. It's that kind of workout.
But.
The room gets really hot in Spin classes. And a hot room means a lot of hot sweat. Which means, if you're a sista, hair that is a hot mess.
See, I'm one of those rare, lucky individuals who sweats very little. And on top of that, when I DO sweat, it does not involve my scalp. Trust me--there are black women reading this right at this very moment who are narrowing their eyes in envy.
As well they should.
So me? I can go for a run. Do a step class. Do Body Pump. You name it. And at the most, I'll get a film over my face and that's about it. (There is pathology probably involved in that, but that's a whole 'nother story.) So yeah. Lucky me, I'm not the person who has to think or worry about my 'do becoming a don't when I'm exercising.
Except.
The one time that I went to a Spinning class. A friend talked me into it--swearing that it was the BEST workout and calorie burner. She swore I'd be hooked on it. And--what's even better--the class she invited me to was at 6AM which was right on par with my preference for morning exercise.
Did I mention that this friend of mine had stick straight hair that she often let air dry?
Mmmm hmmm.
So check it. Six AM. On a weekday. A day that I had to GO TO WORK afterward. I meet up with my friend and we get our spin on. And I fully agree that it was a kick ass workout, just like she said. I got so into it that I went into some kind of fitness zone where I was feeling the music deep down in my bones and loving the energy of it all. It was a GREAT workout. FANTASTIC even. I even looked over at my friend and told her so. REPEATEDLY. What an AWESOME workout this was. And she was smiling all big like the rockstar-workout pal that she was.
And all was right with the world.
That is, until I wiped my forehead and grazed the front of my hair.
What the. . . ?!?
Soaked. Soaked like somebody soaked it with a SUPER SOAKER. At 7AM.
Now. If you are a black woman or any woman with KINKY hair that you DON'T wear in an AFRO/LOC'ed/TWISTED/WEAVED/BRAIDED style. . . .you know what an absolute DEBACLE this was. A 911 debacle even.
And let me just clarify--yet again--something else. KINKY HAIR is not the same as CURLY HAIR that you blew straight or flat-ironed but that now has reverted to its natural curly pattern. When I say kinky hair pattern, I'm talking about hair that requires elbow grease, heat and/or chemical relaxers to straighten out. I am NOT talking about hair that inconveniences you just a bit because you don't prefer your bouncy curls. I'm talking the kind of hair that does not afford you a whole lot of spontaneity. And that, without a very clear plan and product line up, can make something like being super-soaked in a Spinning class or ha-ha-very-funny pushed into a swimming pool in ninth grade NOT FUNNY AT ALL.
And before anyone even decides to say it, comment it, or email it--this in NO WAY means that I have an issue with my culture or the hair God gave me and those who share it with me. I have no issue with whatever style that any person chooses for their hair, either. My choice to wear my own hair in its current closely cropped and chemically relaxed style does not, in my opinion, represent some kind of self hatred for my people, my heritage or my appearance. No, it does not.
Matter of fact, I think there are lots and lots of non-kinky-haired folks who would just LOVE to wear their hair in locs or a big woolly 'fro but who can't. So--again, this is my opinion--I see all of this as a choice and a preference.
My preference is to not have my look exchanged with that of the Fresh Prince of Bel Air in just one hour. Unless, of course, The Fresh Prince Look is the one I'm going for.
So let me just tell you--that was one rough hair day. And let me also tell you that I have not done a Spinning class since.
Surely have not.
So regardless of how many folks took offense to what Dr. Surgeon General said that day--she was on to something. And if the hair salon last week served as any kind of focus group on the subject, there's a whoooooole lot of black women who ain't even mad at her for addressing the topic.
Whew. The more I type, the more I realize what an enormous topic this black women and black hair situation can be. Stay with me. . . .this is important stuff.
Alright. So somebody, I'm sure, is reading this and thinking, "Huh? How difficult can it be to wear a hairstyle like yours? It's a finger-snap long and brushed down onto your head!"
Well. . . .sounds like we need another teachable moment, don't we?
So here is how my hairstyle works. I go to see my stylist who cuts my hair every two weeks. My natural hair pattern is wavy-kinky and would never ever lay flat and straight to my head without getting it chemically straightened. Every few weeks, my stylist applies a chemical relaxer (what sistas refer to as "getting a perm") to the areas of new growth which, with hair this short, occurs more often than those with longer styles. But it doesn't just stop with getting my hair relaxed and cut. After that, using the right products, my stylist molds my wet hair down to my scalp with something called "wrapping foam" -- which is kind of similar in consistency to mousse. Next comes paper strips that hold down the edges and just like a cake, I'm then popped into the oven.
Or under the dryer which, at the salon I go to, feels exactly like an oven sometimes.
After that, my hair is stick straight and flattened on my skull. The next step is getting it curled. Yes--curled--with a small flat iron (the top, not the edges.) No. My hair is not wet-and-wear. No. I cannot jump into a pool on a whim and then look remotely like I prefer to look without the aforementioned process taking place.
So what happens for the rest of the week, you ask? I'll tell you (hell, I've told you this much, why not?) Using my silkiest scarf, I tie my hair under it at night. The following morning, I take off the scarf and VOILA! My look is maintained. Pretty much until the next time I see my stylist -- or some water-- whichever comes first.
So pretty much? You spend the week or two avoiding moisture to your head. Which means, if you sweat profusely in your scalp with exercise, this moisture-avoidance thing could lead to a major discouragement against a good, hard workout.
Yeah, Dr. Surgeon General. You betta preach.
So what's a kinky-wavy or kinky-curly or straight-up kinky-haired sista to do?
Well, there are options:
One is to be a billionaire like Oprah and have a team of folks ready and willing to reverse you back to the look of your choice every single morning after you workout. There's that.
There's also the option of not being a billionaire but deciding to throw vanity to the wind and just going ahead and jacking up your anti humidity dependent hair style for the sake of your health. There's also the in-between maneuvers like scarves, pomades, other makeshift fixes to make what you just jacked up presentable until you make it back to the salon.
There's that.
Then there's what I like to call "The Beyonce Option." This is where you have all of your real hair braided underneath a long blonde hair weave. And let's be clear--I ain't EVEN mad at Beyonce and am very much a fan. But I do fully recognize that blonde curly locks are not growing out of her scalp. (But mad props to the person who makes it look that way.) So with that option, you can work out all you like and then wet your sewn in naturally straight or loosely curl patterned hair all you like.
Mmmm hmmm.
We can't forget just rolling with what the good Lawd gave you. That's rocking a short curly fro or rocking some afro puffs. Individuals with these styles can and DO pretty much have wet-and-go hair. But ask any of the sistas wearing these styles and they'll tell you that it's ALL about the right products (which I have learned are NOT cheap or easy to find.)
My younger sister JoLai is an avid worker-outer. She got tired of dealing with her hair post exercise and finally just wacked it all off into a little natural style. Which works for her since this is the style she prefers and is one that makes her life easier. Yeah. It's a bold move. And it's one that works for her.
But, see, everyone isn't JoLai. And if they were, Dr. Benjamin would not have a billion-dollar industry's hair show to address over the topic of sistas, hair, and exercise. You with me? Good.
Whew.What else?
Locs! Yes, there's locs as another option -- or what some know of as dreadlocks. (My loc-wearing sista-friends have informed me that the term "dreadlocks" is not the preferred term, so that's the last time you'll hear it from me.) Okay. The reason I didn't include locs with the last grouping is because locs are a major commitment and they are not simply wet-and-go. Yes. They can get wet without a full on debacle a la my Fresh Prince Spinning disaster. But. Wet locs are like heavy ropes that hold onto water and moisture. And drying them takes time.
Also. The people that you see with lovely, immaculate locs see professional stylists and put lots of work into keeping them that way. Otherwise they look like a giant 'fro with pole beans popping out of it.
Which is cool -- if that's the look you're going for -- kind of like Bob Marley.
But don't get it twisted (no pun intended)-- just because locs don't involve chemicals or heat, don't you think for two seconds that the time commitment is not substantial if you want them to look nice.
This look involved a process -- and the right products.
Oh and did I mention? Change your mind about locs and you pretty much have one option: SHAVE YOUR HEAD. Because once hair "locs" there is no easy way to un-loc it. (Yes there are rare caveats but I see that like tattoo removal--difficult and rarely completely successful. Being tired of locs almost always it means going from long and luscious to teeny-weeny-afro.)
Case in point:
And this is totally fine if you are ridiculously hot like Lenny Kravitz. But not so much if you are not.
Feel me?
Wow! Aren't you learning, like, SOOOO much right now? See, I'm a teacher, y'all. You don't have to thank me--this is what I do.
Yes. There's more.
Braids. Braids! There's all kinds of braids--which also provide you some respite from hair-consideration-prison if you are of the kinky-headed persuasion. Yes. This is why me and many of the other little African-American girls at your camps growing up arrived in. . .you guessed it. . .braids. It's also why every time you see Oprah on a trip somewhere away from her dream team she suddenly has her hair braided. It's what you do when you don't want to "fool with" your hair.
Yup.
First, there's cornrows. Simple, flat french braids platted flat to the scalp. Quick. Simple. And often doable at home or by your homegirl across the street.
Then there's cornrows with extensions. Synthetic hair extensions stay better than natural hair alone, so many people braid in some synthetic hair to avoid the fuzzy-wuzzy-bear head that occurs after one week of going au naturel.
Next, there's individual braids with synthetic extensions. Again. Even if you have long hair, the extensions . . .well. . .extend how long they last. And can give you more flexibility with the look of your choice. These braids can be teeny-tiny or rope thick. They can be braided all the way to the very end or just at half way with loose hair at the ends.
Oh yeah--and a lot of folks use human hair for all of these braids, too. Like retro-Beyonce here. These are especially helpful for those who want to wear their hair down and curly and who get the tiny micro braided styles. The "micros" (as folks call them for short) are also the bomb if you're trying to grown your hair out of a short style and aren't keen on a full weave. I grew my short hair--and my relaxer-- out during my pregnancy with Zachary--with the help of micros. (Only to wack it all off again.)
Me with my "micros"
Which reminds me.
The black folks will be like "whatev" but everyone else--did y'all know that there are salons that braid hair all day and that's it? Where you can just walk in and point at the wall and say, "This" and then get your hair braided all up lickety split? And I say "lickety split" because while the braiding salon part may NOT sound unusual to you, many reading this have never actually gone inside of one, let alone sat down as a client.
This is why you have me in your life. To share these things with you. Heh.
The reason they are able to do it lickety split is because as many as THREE people might be braiding your hair at once. Mmmm hmmm. So just imagine your head bobbling all over like a pinball with three women tightly plaiting your hair in different directions. As well as talking about you in a language you don't understand.
Yep. And guess what? You can drop by to have them re-do just the EDGES when they start growing out and looking crazy -- OR even pay to just have them take them out for you. And trust me, people. This I know from personal experience.
Bananas, right?
So you tell me? Are you mad at the Surgeon General for bringing this up? Hmmph. I ain't.
Oh. Shoot! I almost forgot something else. Pressed hair. There are women who have opted NOT to chemically straighten their hair who instead get it washed and blowdried into a big woolly Chaka Khan-esque blow out. Then, using a flattening iron or an old school hot comb it is beat down into silky submission--if that's the look you are going for.
So. Since I keep bringing up Oprah, let me just use her as yet another example. So Oprah wore her hair relaxed forever, as in this picture above. Going through that process I described before nearly every day. Which sounds horrific but is true. When she wasn't on a trip wearing braids, she was pretty much making certain that her stylists were always nearby in the event of a Spinning class or some other catastrophe. Then she evolved to wearing a weave. Yep. A weave. This meant that all of her REAL hair was cornrowed down and some human hair had been sewn to those braids. Yep. Oprah rolled with this for a couple of years (see below.)
fuzzy wuzzy roots are often a weave-giveaway
Then, in the final season, she suddenly emerged with a whole SLEW of hair that she let Chris Rock run his fingers through to prove on national television was "all hers."
But all the sistas were like, "Oh, okay. Her hair must've grown while she had it braided all that time with that weave." Yep.
She also grew all of the chemically relaxed parts out, too. This means that now her stylists were straightening her hair with heat only instead of heat and chemicals. And for those who wonder what the advantage of doing one or the other is, I'll quickly tell you that unrelaxed hair is generally "healthier" appearing, softer, and silkier when worn long. But. Get caught in the kind of weather that we had last week (misty-spit-like rain) and you will be reversed 100% back from silkiness to Chaka Khan Chaka Khan. Or more like the Jackson 5, depending upon your curl pattern. Which AGAIN is only an issue if you DON'T prefer to wear your hair in a natural style. (This is where the relaxer has its advantages.)
And lastly, let me answer a question that someone else asked me recently.
"So does Halle Berry go through all of this with her short hair, too? She makes it looks so effortless!"
The answer is most likely no. For two reasons. The first being that she is a multimillionaire with stylists on-demand. Hello? The second being that Ms. Berry's hair is a combination of African-textured and Caucasian-textured. What this usually equates to is naturally curly hair that, depending upon who you ask, can be the very best of both worlds. Not better--just a little easier to move between styles with--that's all I'm saying. Hair like hers is coarse enough to wear in some popular sista-styles yet soft enough to do what most of these things without tremendous amounts of heat or chemicals. Hair like this also returns into soft curls when wet -- not puffy afro-liciousness.
And afro-liciousness is FINE with me if that's the look you intended. But when it isn't, it can be frustrating.
So let's be clear--my hair is NOT like Halle's. No, it is not.
But with the right products and the right process it sure can seem that way.
What I do know is that she definitely has to curl her hair to make it look "red carpet ready."
Believe that.
And so. What was the point of all of this? Hell if I know. I forgot that about four paragraphs ago.
But.
You know I am all about us understanding each other. I really am. And hair is one of the biggest dichotomies ever between my culture and some others. For reals. But, see, I'm here to close that gap. At least a little bit.
Chris Rock tried with his "Good Hair" movie. But he kind of showed some of the uglier sides of sisters and our hair journey. For most of us, it really isn't ugly at all. It's a way we connect. A way we find community and talk about current events. It's a place for therapy and shoulders to cry upon.
And for me? It's memories so rich and so deep that it's hard to even explain them. It's my homegirl Bernetta threading beads onto the ends with tin foil stoppers after double dutching all day. It's my T'Renee telling me to hold my head still while tackling the little bitty "kitchen" hairs in the back of my head with a sizzling hot comb. It's sitting on a stack of phonebooks while my mom rolled my hair with sponge rollers. It's having hair so long-for-a-black-woman that people always accused me of having a weave or being "mixed with something." It's deciding to shear it down to my scalp right before taking a new job at Grady Hospital.
Man. It's so, so much . . . and a lot of my hair experience tells the story of where I'm from.
And for a lot of other women it does, too.
It sure does.
So I guess that's why -- though admirable -- our U.S. Surgeon General, Dr. Benjamin, has a hard row to hoe when it comes to trying to find a way to get black women to take a more. . .relaxed. . . .approach to their hair. Especially when it comes to exercise--or anything else that will undo a three hour hair-fixing process. She's got her work cut out for her.
Yeah, she does.
But we ain't even mad at her for starting somewhere. . . .
***
Happy Sunday--wait Monday, now.
Dang, that was a long one. Thanks for staying with it if you did. What y'all got on this?
Now playing on my mental iPod. . . . I apologize in advance for putting this in your head.
Pulak was among our graduates who received medical diplomas from the School of Medicine earlier this week. And as you can see just from looking at her sweet face, she is something special.
She so very is.
I had the great fortune of being Pulak's attending on the wards at Grady last year. Pulak took exceptional care of our patients and really blossomed into a confident young clinician right before my eyes. That was the real start of our relationship and I am so glad that it was. Pulak is my kind of people.
Team OM-expletive-G, the late night rounders
Since then, Pulak has been excellent about staying in touch and thoughtful about maintaining our relationship. She sends me texts to let me know she's reading my blog and can always be counted upon to greet me with the same big, warm smile every single time I see her.
On match day, she was so elated when she got her first choice program in Family Medicine. That came as no surprise to any of us who know her and have worked with her. But being as humble as she is, she never took that for granted. And okay, I will go on the record and admit that both Dr. del Rio and myself tried to put on the full court press to veer her toward Internal Medicine. But since Pulak has such a strong sense of self, we failed. That same sense of self is what drew us to her in the first place, so that came as no surprise either.
So, yes, Family Medicine it shall be. Now Pulak will be bringing her brains and her heart and her trilingual-ness to the care of many lucky men, women, and children. At her first choice of programs.
Match Day, 2012
That was a proud day. And a special day, too. Her family was so proud -- and the love was evident. You can tell she grew up surrounded by it.
With Pulak's permission, I want to share a little piece of her family's love today. This was one of the most heartwarming demonstrations of love that I've seen in a very long time. Love as a verb. . . .yes. . . .in the form of a simple gesture--eating cake.
Last Saturday Pulak and her family invited me to join in her family's celebration of her graduation. I was honored to be included. Plus I love being around acutely proud -- wait . . .acute-on-chronically-- proud parents and families. And that is exactly what this was.
Yes, that's what it was. But it was also something more.
The minute I walked up to her home, the love was palpable. This party was for Pulak and only her, yet on her front porch there were over fifty pairs of shoes of all different sizes. I really wanted to snap a photo of it, but I feared one of the uncles standing outside would think I was a nutty stalker lady!
Anyways. Those shoes represented only a small part of the family, extended family and friends who had come there to rejoice at the accomplishments of this amazing young woman.
The door was unlocked, so after slipping out of my flip flops, I walked right in with bare feet. And that was cool because that is how they roll. Perhaps a part of being welcomed into her house with bare feet was cultural, but there was also this part that just said, "Make yourself at home." Which is exactly what every single person I encountered in that house insisted that I do.
Whether they lived there or not.
It was amazing. I felt immediately enveloped in the love that was infiltrating that home. The laughs were hearty, the languages spoken were mostly foreign to my ears yet somehow it was fully understandable. Because happiness comes across as happiness no matter what dialect the person is speaking. So yes, most people were speaking Gujarati or some mixture of Gujarati and English or some mixture of maybe Gujarati and Hindi even -- but still, I didn't feel like an outsider. Never once.
Not one bit.
Because me? My shoes were off and I was seated at a table laughing right along with the aunties and cousins and Pulak's mom, too. I hugged her grandmother and shook her dad's hand and proceeded to eat every single thing that her mom and those aunties enthusiastically put in front of me.
Without protest.
Next came my favorite part. The cake!
Pulak's parents ushered everyone into the dining room to cut the cake. And it was interesting because there weren't candles and this wasn't her birthday. Yet everyone instinctively gathered around and gave their full attention.
No. There weren't any cheesy toasts or slurring words. One person did sing a few bars of "For she's a jolly good fellow" but then decided that it was weird to refer to Pulak as a "jolly good fellow" so stopped. But not before giving us all a good chuckle.
So, no, there weren't glasses filled with bubbly being held in the air, but instead something much sweeter. The cake was cut and the first piece was placed on a plate. The entire family drew in close. I did, too.
And then this:
Pulak and her parents (Dad on left, Mom feeding cake)
Pulak's mother fed her the first bite of cake. Followed by her father. Then other family members who love her very much. And everyone looked and cheered and smiled and took pictures. And the love was so thick in that room that it was almost suffocating. But in a good way.
Pulak and her grandmother
I almost cried after watching her grandmother feed her this bite. The family helped her from her wheelchair and she participated in this dear, dear act of celebration. Just look at that sweet smile on her face! I was very close to tears and if it hadn't been for all the joy and laughter in that room I'm sure I would have been more than just close.
And you know? I am certain that I was the only African-American -- better yet non-South Asian -- in that room but I felt fully comfortable and a part of it all. Because like I said, love and happiness doesn't require a whole lot of explanations.
So on this day? I just took off my shoes, made myself at home and felt the love.
And so this week I am still reflecting on the aspects of my life and my career that I love the most. This moment with Pulak's family underscored once again what I know for sure: Building relationships is the best part. With patients. With students. With readers on this blog. With my family. With myself.
Yes, it is.
So, please. Take off your shoes. It's okay -- come in barefoot. Have a bit of cake. . . .
Well, good people. . . . Thanksgiving has come and gone which means one thing and one thing only: The flood gates are now open for the season of jingle bells, pine cones and holly berries! And--yes--the time for latkes, dreidels, and Chanukah gelt!
Pause.
That's right, I said it. And you don't EVEN have to tell me how impressed you are with my knowledge of non-Christmas holiday traditions (or especially my spelling of Chanukah with a 'c'.) Because me? I'm culturally competent like that. See, thanks to my friends of Jewish faith like Lesley M., Neil W., Natalie L., Ann I., and Nat F I have mad skills when it comes to menorahs and I'm nice with my Yiddish. Matter of fact, this came in handy last year when Isaiah's friend gave him a dreidel.
See, I would start telling y'all about how Hanukkah (sorry, it felt like I was trying too hard with that whole 'c' spelling) isn't even the same week every year or about how (contrary to what many people --okay I--used to think) the kids aren't opening a whole Christmas morning's worth of gifts for eight nights in a row. Maaaan, I could even go so far as to tell you about how annoyed all my Jewish friends are with us non-Jewish folk going to the movie theaters on Christmas day. I mean, I would tell you all of those things, you know, because I could. . .but see, I won't because THAT is not the point of this post.
The point of this post (yes there is one this time!) is to do for you what my Jewish friends have done for me. . . .to provide you a little extra insight into my culture--just in time for the holidays!
Now. For those new here, I should share with you that I am a black woman living in the Southern United States. I was raised in California by my parents--both African-Americans and Alabama natives-- which technically means I'm not a GRITS (girl-raised-in-the-south) but I am the next closest thing.
Anyways, I have found that being up on other people's cultural traditions is a good thing. Especially as a person who works in a hospital, it always makes things so much easier when you have a bit of a clue about things outside of your own little world. And beyond that. . . . you never know who you'll find yourself down with. Or in love with. . . . .
Basically, I think the more we share about each other's cultures the better. Especially this time of year because there's no telling who might invite you over to their house to break bread. And we all know that being outside of what you know can sometimes feel like being on a completely other planet!
So in the spirit of the holidays, I bring you this week's top ten:
Top Ten Things you should know that would make participating in a holiday meal and/or celebration with my people a lot easier for you.
Let me first say that I apologize for being a day late and a dollar short for those who this would have helped on this past Thursday. Oh, and I'm the first to say--I am NOT the authority on black folks and holidays at all. These are things I have noted in my own experiences and nothing more. Seeing as my father is one of eleven children, I've had my share of big ol' holiday family shindigs.
Disclaimer: If these kinds of things offend you, stop reading now and go straight to the list of favorite posts for some good and unoffensive reading. Otherwise. . .
Doing the holidays with my people? It just might behoove you to know the following things:
#10 -- We are on a first-name basis . . . .
. . . .with our greens.
Isaiah on Thanksgiving with collards
"What's these? Collards or Turnips?"
"Collards with a little bit of mustards mixed in."
"These the turnips?"
"Naw, those collards, too. They just cooked all the way down. Oh and these aren't cooked with pork."
"Y'all didn't make no turnips?"
"Naw. Turnips taste too bitter."
"Not my turnips. My turnips never taste bitter."
"Hmmph. Well you shoulda brought yo' turnips, huh?"
Rule: Don't ever show up with a pot full of mustards. I just read a wonderful article that properly described mustard greens as the "Tito Jackson" of the greens family. So true!
#9 -- Don't get too fancy. . . . .
. . .with the cranberry sauce.
*This may or may not occur depending upon whose house you have dinner at.*
"What the hell is this?"
"It's cranberry sauce."
"This ain't cranberry sauce!"
"Shhhhh! Mama's work-friend brought it. She said it's from real cranberries."
*silence, followed by keys jingling in hand*
"What you 'bout to do?"
"Maaan, I'm 'bout to go to Kroger's to get me some real cranberry sauce in the can."
(*This may or may not be based upon true events. Ah hem.)
Whew! Crisis averted.
Rule: It's fine to make cranberry sauce from real cranberries. HOWEVER. Depending upon whose house it is, just be sure to have a can of the jellied Ocean Spray kind in your purse in case of emergency.
#8 -- Dressing for the occasion.
Dressing is what my people have next to the turkey. Not stuffing.
Stuff it!
"Oh, wow! Your cornbread stuffing is delicious."
*crickets*
Rule: Stovetop by Stouffer's is stuffing. My people? They make dressing. (At least in my experience.)
#7 -- "Sure! Here you go!"
This is the only proper answer to the following question:
"Excuse me--can you pass me some hot sauce?"
Which reminds me: it better not be Tabasco, either. Regular old Lousiana hotsauce or RedHot or Crystal's will do. Those little peppers with the vinegar also may or may not be present.
Rule: Hot sauce is a staple for my people.
#6 -- Don't forget the lyrics.
You are absolutely of my culture if you can relate to this:
"'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house Not a creature was stirring not even a mouse. . . . ."
If in your head you immediately heard the first few bars of The Temptations singing "Silent Night" followed by someone belting out "in my mind. . . I want you to be freeeeee" after reading those words there is a 99.9% chance that you are either African-American or deeply connected to someone African-American. As a matter of fact, of all of the things I say on this top ten, this specific music is the one indisputable thing that you will absolutely find at every single house. And this? This song will be played if you go to a holiday celebration with my people.
Don't get my reference at all? Take a listen:
Now that I think about it, if you don't want to feel left out at the celebration, I would suggest listening to and learning this song--particularly if spirits are being poured. You never know if you just might be expected to be the high falsetto Temptation in a front-of-the-fireplace impromptu concert. (Yes, people. This could happen.)
Rule: No holiday celebration is complete without the Temps singing "Silent Night."
#5 -- And while you're at it. . . .
. . .you might as well learn this one, too. NO gathering of my people during or around the holidays is official until you hear this song a minimum of twelve thousand times.
As a matter of fact, if you made a iPod playlist with just The Temps singing "Silent Night" and Donny Hathaway singing "This Christmas" my bet is that not a single one of "my people" would even notice. Also, if you have never heard this song on the radio, it means that you have never listened to the black radio station in your city at Christmas time. Without the least bit of exaggeration, I can assure you that in Atlanta you can hear it every hour on the hour from Thanksgiving until December 25.
Rule: Familiarize yourself with Mr. Hathaway's version of this song. (You'll get extra cool points if you know the part where he says "shake-a-hand, shake-a-hand.") OH!! Don't be tempted by the other renditions either--Donny Hathaway singing "This Christmas" is the holy grail of soul Christmas music--constantly imitated, but never, ever duplicated. Also -- this, too, might be a part of the impromptu concert in front-of-the-fireplace. (But the good news is that because it doesn't involve multi-part harmonies, you might be safe if you just nod your had and do a two-step.)
#4 -- A pound of butter. . . .
. . .is in the pound cake. For real.
Oh, and there will be no less than seven hundred and thirty seven forms of dessert. Pound cake will definitely be one of them but also count on some sweet potato pie, pecan pie, and a red velvet cake. If you're lucky, someone will bring a caramel cake and some banana pudding. And you know you are celebrating with my people if you encounter a 7-Up cake or a Milky Way cake--which are prepared with 7-Up and Milky Way bars, respectively.
Rule: Watching your weight? Step awaaaaay from the pound cake. Matter of fact, just don't come to the party because there is NOTHING you can eat.
#3 -- Chit-chat
Let's just get one thing clear: "chitterlings". . . is pronounced "chitlins" not chitter-lings. Got that?
Me-myself-personally? I don't eat chitlins nor have I ever even put a single chitlin in my mouth. Why, you ask? Real talk--after watching my T'Renee (Auntie Renee) clean them once when I was a child, I was so traumatized that this was all I needed to assure that I'd never, ever try them. So. . . . you DO realize that chitlin's are pig intestines, right? So cleaning them involves. . . .*sorry, just threw up in my mouth a little bit* . . . .cleaning what's inside of intestines. (See above scary-photo. Sorry, smell not included.)
Now. Usually this is followed by some history lesson about how when our people were slaves we had to get creative with what we had. The chitlins were scrapped, so voila! They became a delicacy in the slave quarter. And y'all know how I feel about history, especially black history, so I once got very, very, very close to tasting a teeny-tiny bite smothered with hot sauce after hearing such an explanation behind the fact that we were actually eating intestines. Just as the fork got near my lips, my PTSD of seeing that pig-poo rolling down the drain and into the sink made me dry heave. Couldn't do it, man. Still can't.
Confession #1: When I was pregnant with Isaiah, my mother-in-law cleaned and cooked chitlins in my house. I immediately threw up when I walked in from work and smelled them. Like immediately. Mother (my mom-in-law) felt so bad for me that no chitlin has been cleaned or prepared in my home since.
Confession #2: During that last time while carrying Isaiah, I saw my husband actually eating some chitlins and am still wondering if that should have been grounds for divorce.
Rule: Never, ever volunteer to clean chitlins and make every effort to not be there when it's taking place. Even if you're trying to get in good with the future in-laws. Don't do it. Especially if you happen to be pregnant.
#2 -- Know what this is:
photo courtesy of my pal Lesley M. who snapped a photo of this because she knew it would make me laugh!
Question: What you know about some chow-chow?
"Pass me that chow-chow, baby."
"I'm sorry-- pass you the what?"
"The chow-chow for these collards and these chitlins."
*crickets*
"Pass me that hot sauce too while you at it."
Okay, okay. Maybe the chow-chow thing is an exaggeration, but my Mudear always had some handy whenever one of those eleven kids asked for it. We were at our Thanksgiving party at Grady a few weeks back and I loved it when I heard one of the nurses ask for some chow-chow! (Made me think of my Mudear.) Oh and the best part? They had some!
Rule: Okay, look. The deeper into the south you go and the higher the median age of the attendants at the holiday dinner, the more likely you are to encounter a request for some chow-chow--a pickled relish that goes on top of some of everything. Mostly young folks? No chow chow necessary. Expecting the Grady elders? Uuuuuh, at least consider it. Consider yourself officially in the know.
Dining with my people? You might consider having a snack before somebody starts praying over the food. Especially during the holidays. Ha. Now, if you're lucky, you might have my dad who keeps it real simple with:
"Good bread Good meat Good God Let's eat!"
But don't count on that. By November and December, a lot has gone down in the lives of black folks so in addition to showing your appreciation for the vittles, there's a whole year's worth of shout outs that just might have to precede that. These may or may not start with individual words of wisdom. I'm not ageist, but I've noticed that the length of the prayer mostly depends upon the age of the food-blesser. Be particularly skeptical of those who have a tendency to randomly break out in singing old negro spirituals while waiting for the elevator. Then again, depending upon where you are in the bible belt, some young folks can sneak you with some surprisingly long-winded sermons dinner blessings.
Essentially, just be ready for anything. (Oh and if you are asked to recite a scripture, the shortest one in the entire bible is "Jesus wept." - John 11:35. *You're welcome.*)
See anything can happen. . .it might not quite like this one, but this one is pretty doggone comical. . .
Rule: Anything can happen at the holiday dinner table. Even during the blessing of the food.
***
Now! You should be fully prepared to fit right into any holiday celebration with my people!
Okay, so what's up with you and your people? What do y'all do during the holiday season? Do you eat chow chow, too? What songs should I know before coming over there? And most important--should I bring my own can of cranberry sauce in my pocket book to put next to your. . .err. . . stuffing?
Weigh in. How do you and your peoples do it?
***
Now playing on my mental iPod (in addition to the standard soundtrack.) James Brown always helps us get on the good foot for Christmas!
Honestly? I write this blog to share the human aspects of medicine + teaching + work/life balance with others and myself -- and to honor the public hospital and her patients--but never at the expense of patient privacy or dignity.
Thanks for stopping by! :)
"One writes out of one thing only--one's own experience. Everything depends of how relentlessly one forces from this experience the last drop, sweet or bitter, it can possibly give."
~ James Baldwin (1924 - 1987)
"Do it for the story." ~ Antoinette Nguyen, MD, MPH
Details, names, time frames, etc. are always changed to protect anonymity. This may or may not be an amalgamation of true,quasi-true, or completely fictional events. But the lessons? They are always real and never, ever fictional. Got that?
