Eyes (sort of) on the Prize.

"Keep Your eyes on the prize. . . Hold on. . . ."

On the actual MLK holiday, we had a ginormous play date with several of my friends' children. This was the nerdy concept of my med school classmate and fellow Grady doctor, Yolanda W. (who has been up to such shenanegans ever since we were medical students.) Anyways, the idea was to reflect with our kids on why they were out of school, to read them a few stories and do some crafts surrounding Dr. King and the civil rights movement, and then to have them all watch a little bit of the classic series "Eyes on the Prize."

The crafts? A hit.
The stories? Not necessarily a hit, but definitely had a few solid takers.
The DVD of "Eyes on the Prize?"Uhhhh. . . .

Isaiah and Jonah. Quite crafty, for kindergartners.

Now.

Let's be clear here. We are talking about kids ranging from age 4 all the way to 12. We are talking black and white movie clips from the Little Rock nine, The Edmund Pettus bridge, and pro-segregation rants from that former governor of Alabama. And we are not just talking that stuff, but that other heavy stuff, too. Hoses spraying and German shepherds attacking men and women who just might as easily be their grandparents. Not exactly Sponge Bob or The Electric Company. Fortunately, the kids were good sports, and actually seemed half way excited about the whole thing at the beginning. . . . .

We were like, total Cosby parents. Like totally. Doctors, lawyers and ev'rythang. Full blown, new millennium Huxtables, I tell you. (Come on, don't act like y'all don't remember the episode where Heathcliff, Claire and the whole Huxtable family sat around clutching their chests in silent wonder while watching "I Have a Dream" on television.)

Well, anyways, it was feeling like it was going to be just like that. For real. Rudy, Vanessa and Theo had nothing on our kids! They clapped their hands and cheered. They answered all of our questions about Dr. King with aplomb! And then. . .finally, they all settled down into their chairs--cozy and cooperative--fully prepared to go on a journey back in time. Already promising to keep their eyes on the prize. Sigh. (This is the part where we pat our own backs and congratulate ourselves for being such forward thinking, politically correct and freakin' awesome parents.)

Then we actually turned the DVD on.

Wait for it . . . wait for it. . .

Um, yeah.

After approximately two and a half old negro spirituals, one scene of a woman in cat-eye glasses being handcuffed and escorted to a paddywagon, and three interviews with soft-spoken elders who'd lived through the movement. . . . .us (forward thinking, politically correct, and freakin' awesome) parents were nearly in tears, marveling at our Huxtable-ness.

However.

Our well meaning attempt at getting our children more in touch with this important part of American history looked a little more like this:

Crickets. . . .

Oh well. It was worth a try.

Admittedly, our 5th and 6th graders were somewhat interested, but were a bit too distracted by the handstands and booty-shaking of the little kids during the interludes. (I'm just sayin'.)

During all of this, us nerdy moms did the thing that I have now come to accept that moms always do when it is after 4 PM and we have a quorum present: bust open a bottle of vino!

Out came the red wine, and (yes, it gets nerdier) Yolanda had us play a "Black History Trivia Game."

The proof.

I am not too convinced that Dr. King would have approved of all of the trashtalking that this game involved. . . .

I am proud to say that Crystal K. and I achieved legendary status as the winners of MLK Day-Red-Red-Wine-and-Black-History-Trivia Day.

Forward-thinking, freakin' awesome, black history trivia mavens, please step forward.

I don't know about Dr. King, but personally, I think that at least Dr. Huxtable would've been proud. :)

****

In the spirit of Dr. Martin Luther King, thought I'd share this other video that I love to watch every year around this time. . . also inspired by this great man with his great vision. . . .performed by another great man with great vision. Take a moment to listen to the lyrics of a young Bono. . . .forward thinking, too. . . even in his early career.

I'm OK. You're OK.

Isaiah this morning: Living the dream. . .

 "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent."

~ Eleanor Roosevelt

____________________________________________________

I was riding in the car with Isaiah the other day on the way home from school.  Like always, he was running down, in great detail, every little thing that had happened that day. Usually, I drive along saying, "Uh huh. . uh huh. . oh wow, bud, really?. . . .uh huh. . .you did?. . . uh huh. . ." 

You get the picture.

Mostly it's stuff like who got a "silent lunch" or who was the mystery reader or what girl he thinks he (just might) consider marrying.  But this day, he threw me for a loop.

"One of my friends asked me to come over for a play date soon, but I don't think so."

"Oh, yeah? Which one?"

He said the name and I was a bit surprised. This kid was a part of his "crew."  Isaiah has a group of pals at school, all of whom are kindergartners, and as a pack, they literally look like a Benetton ad.  He speaks of them nonstop, and the thought of him referring to part of the UN posse as a no go for a play date was perplexing.

"Why wouldn't you want to go over his house? Isn't he your friend?"

"He is."

Uh okay.

"So why wouldn't you want to go for a play date with him?"

"Oh, because he said that people with black skin are bad and not smart."

Whaaaaaaaaa???? 

You know the needle scratched the record on that one.  I could feel my protective mommy instincts revving up BIG TIME.

"What???"  I tried not to sound as outraged as I was feeling.

Isaiah was super, duper calm.  So I decided I needed to follow his lead.  I took a deep breath and asked more questions.

"Why would he say something like that?" (Dumb question, right? He's in kindergarten so of course he heard an adult say it. Duh.) "I mean, how did that make you feel?"

"Well, it didn't make me feel good, Mom. That's for sure."

And I'm telling you. He said it like he was talking about soccer practice or something on his Nintendo DSi. Like it was no big deal.  No sweat off of his back.

"Who was there with you?"  (Yes, another dumb question. I know who is in his crew and that he is the only member that happens to be black. Interestingly, the child who dropped this zinger was of color--just not the black persuasion.)

He named all of the kids who were there. In that group of five kids, a myriad of ethnicities were represented.  But my Isaiah was the lone African-American kid. I thought I would be sick. Or worse, that I would go to the school and kick someone's ass.

"So. . . . .what happened next? I mean. . .what did you do, son?"

I hated the thought of him being singled out or bullied or even having some seed of self hatred planted for his race at such an early age.  I could feel my blood boiling. . . . .

"Mom, I just looked at him and said, 'What are you even talking about? That is a dumb thing to say.'"

"So then what happened?" I pressed.  I wanted every detail. I was prepared to march on Washington, and I needed facts. Facts, I say.

"He said it again. He said that people with black skin are bad and not smart."

What the. . .? Now I was sure I was going to kick somebody's ass. Or their mama's ass. 100% guar-own-teed.

"But you know what, Mom? I knew it wasn't true so I didn't care."

Yay. Yay, yay, yay.

I can't tell you how many times I've worried about my child not loving who he is, especially considering we don't live in a predominantly black neighborhood. Without being militant, I make every effort to give him as many reasons as possible to be proud of his heritage and of the ancestors that gave so much for us to be here. The day I learned that he would be the only black male in his class, I remember praying that the things we'd discussed with him had marinated enough to carry him through times like this.

I could feel my eyes tingling with tears, the emotions behind which I could not explain. I was speechless. But Isaiah wasn't.

"So you know what I said to him?  I said, 'That's a dumb thing to say because that is not true. FIRST of all, Miss W. is our teacher and SHE has black skin. And SECOND of all, Mr. M. has black skin and he's the PRINCIPAL so you KNOW he's smart and not bad!"  He said it all with that exasperated "duh" type voice. Like his friend had said something that was total nonsense.

I felt this weird mixture of wanting to cry and pride at the same time. He kept going.

With a childishly innocent laugh he added, "and guess what my other friend said?" (His Jewish friend with white skin, that is.)

I was afraid to guess, but knew I needed to hear it. "What did he say?"

He snorted and giggled, "He said, Yeah and THIRD of all, OBAMA has black skin and HE is the PRESIDENT of the WHOLE UNITED STATES! So DUHHHH!' and Mommy, everybody started laughing really hard because how can the president be bad and not smart?" He cackled a silly cackle.

Now I really wanted to cry.

"Did you tell anyone?"

"About what?"

"About what he said to you."

"It was a dumb thing to say so we all just ignored it and kept playing."

"Oh. . . okay. Do you think maybe we should tell Miss W.?"

"About what?"

"Isaiah! About what he said to you about black skin."

"No, Mom. That was a dumb thing to say. Hey, can I have a hot dog for dinner?"

"Maybe.  So are you okay. . .I mean, about what he said about people with black skin?"

"I'm okay with having black skin because that's how God made me. And you and dad told me to be proud of how God made me." That one knocked the wind from my chest. "Oh, Mom? I definitely don't want any brussel sprouts or spaghetti again."

I caught my breath and said, "Okay. You can have salad.  Uuhhh. . .so are y'all still friends? You and him?"

"Oh yeah, Mom, he's still my friend. Now he knows that what he said was dumb so now he doesn't think that anymore. . . . ."

Okay.

I drove in silence trying to get my head around the whole conversation and marveling at the beautiful innocence of children.

". . .but, Mom? I still don't want to go to his house for a play date."


Damn.

The Drum Major Instinct.

 When I was fifteen years old, I got in trouble for doing something that I had no business doing. While I do not remember exactly what it is that I did wrong (I did a lot of stuff back then), I do vividly recall the "punishment" issued in its response.

"I want you to sit in your room and listen to this speech. Then I want you to write me an essay about what you learned."

Wait, huh?

That's what my dad said to me that day. Not "you're grounded." Not "you can't watch television or you can't go to your friend's house." We were getting older and dad was looking for a remix on the discipline. Spanking a tenth grade girl was probably just a little weird, and because his nerdy kids liked reading so much, being grounded did nothing but give us an excuse to finish the next book in the V.C. Andrews saga.  So the folks had to get creative. His latest resort during this time?  Playing Martin Luther King sermons for his teenage kids. Uggghhh.

Oh yeah--and making them write essays afterward.

So. . .on the day to which I am referring, Daddy had me listen to one called "The Drum Major Instinct." I think I rolled my eyes so hard that day that they nearly permanently lodged in the back of my eye sockets. But. . . I finally sat down, opened up the case with the cassette covered with Dad's all caps handwriting, and sulked my chin into my palm.

::Sigh::

Then he started speaking. . . .and wow.  The day I heard that wobbly tape playing from the boombox in our bedroom remains one I will never forget.  The words. . .those words. . . they shook me to my core.

By this time, I'd heard "I Have a Dream" several times.  In fact, I even knew several parts of it by heart. But this one. . . it never came on during television broadcasts or was included in our school productions. Yeah.  "The Drum Major" -- who?

The Drum Major Instinct essentially says that within everyone lies a desire to, at some point and in some way, march out in front. To be first. To lead the parade.  He explains that  whether we admit it to ourselves or not, praise feels good.  Yet this instinct has much to do with all that is awry with the world.  He also rounds up the message by charging the listener and also himself to never let go of your "Drum Major Instinct" -- but to instead push to be a "drum major" in the ways that matter most:

Love.
Giving.
Selflessness.
Excellence.

I was deeply convicted by those words that day. They made me want to be better. To try harder. To love with zeal. And to strive to achieve my own kind of distinction.

I never forgot those words. Twenty five years later, they still resonate with me and move me in the deepest parts of my soul.

Every year on the MLK holiday, I listen to "The Drum Major Instinct." Today, I hope you will, too.



Thanks, Dad.


***

Happy Birthday, Martin Luther King, Jr.  You were a drum major, indeed.

Reflection on a Sunday Night: Action Talks.

This evening I am reflecting on something wonderful that I heard today:

"True love is an action.  Not just a reaction."

***

Sigh. Love that on so many levels. . . . .don't you?

Sisterfriends.

With my linesister and one of my bff's, Ebony ~ half woman, half amazing

"Chance made us sisters, hearts made us friends."

~ Anonymous

In 1992, I pledged Delta Sigma Theta Sorority as a collegiate at Tuskegee University in Alabama. It was one of the best things I've ever done. On Thursday I joined a group of wonderful women to celebrate our sorority's "Founders Day."

Fun, friends, festivity, and faux fur . . .what more could you ask for?

Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Incorporated was founded on January 13, 1913. On this day, there are often big celebrations all over the country for Delta girls, and for the last few years, I've met up with a few of my sorority sisters from around the Atlanta area. This year was particularly fun because the bunch of women I gathered with all had one thing in common: we pledged Delta at Tuskegee University. It was really great!

Delta girls from after my time ~ 1998 initiates.

There are nine historically black Greek letter organizations. Delta Sigma Theta just happens to be the best of the sororities. (Okay, I'm biased.) Anyways, with all such organizations, your pledge constitutes a lifelong promise to remain active in the community and in public service. Upon graduation, you join a graduate chapter to continue this commitment, or for some people who don't pledge while in school, initiation takes place long after they have finished college. The take home point is that, while college sorority and fraternity life is a load of fun in these organizations, the real work begins after you get your degree. In fact, it's an expectation.

Sooooo . . for those unfamiliar, this is why you see people that appear waaaaayy too old to be wearing Greek paraphernalia proudly donning their t-shirts and with placards decorating the fronts of their cars. You'll never hear someone say "I used to be a Delta when I was in college." Or use past tense when referring to any historically African-American Greek letter organization. Once you make that promise, it becomes a part of who you are and how you roll. For good.

Generations of Tuskegee Deltas!

The best part was seeing all of us all grown up. Way back when, I felt so much older than my sorority sisters who pledged in the late nineties. Now, here we all were. . .sipping margaritas, talking about school closings, jobs, and life. . . all grown up.

What's most exciting is that all of these once silly college girls have morphed into more than just grown women with careers and families---almost everyone is walking in their purpose and doing great things--and that's awesome. Today we are still Deltas, but now we are also moms, wives, aunties, breast cancer survivors, teachers, doctors, lawyers, television and radio personalities, social workers, entrepreneurs, authors, nurses, fitness experts, pharmaceutical representatives, real estate moguls and so much more.

"Stomping the yard" with my college roommate the night our initiation was final. . .

. . .and as grown-ups at Homecoming weekend sixteen years later

I guess the other cool part is that same things that made us all desire to be members of this public service-oriented sorority has also made us gel as friends. Delta brought some of my very best friends (and hence very best memories) into my life.

Today I'm reflecting on the wonderful, wonderful relationships that I have been afforded through membership in Delta Sigma Theta. I am also reflecting on the legions of Delta women who have changed the world, and the ones who are making history as we speak.

Just a few of the fabulous Delta women I know and love. . . . .

With my "number" -- a 2007 pledge at Tuskegee

With the great artistic director of The Alvin Ailey Dance Theater ~ Judith Jamison

Michelle J., with future Delta Paige (holding Isaiah as a baby. . awwww!)

My "front" and my rock, Crystal. We pledged together!

Hanging out with sorority sisters from my current graduate chapter this summer

With Stacy H., one of my favorite Grady doctors--yep, also a Delta!

On my 40th birthday, surrounded by my sorority sisters turned old friends (linesisters from Spring 1992 at Tuskegee!)

My favorite Delta diva, Jan L.

With the late icon and former national president, Dorothy I. Height

Ten Year Line Anniversary

Singing and celebrating on our college campus and at a step show (above) with my  GT '98 "little" sis

D.C.'s finest attorney, Sherrese H. and her mommy -- both awesome Delta women!

My linesisters acting crazy at my wedding!

Sweet April W. ~ I wrote her letter for her Delta initiation, and now she's a Delta, too!

Stacy B. and my sis, Deanna ~ no one knows more about the sorority than these two!

with my Tuskegee sorority sister and friend, Tamika. She pledged in 1996, the year I graduated med school!

Celebrating with our sorority sister, Tasia, who had just been the lead in "A Raisin in the Sun."

Two of the best friends and linesisters a girl could have: Ebony and Joy

My favorite "Delta dear" ~ Winifred S.

Deltas, moms, and friends ~ with Kim B., my oldest friend ever (also a Delta!)

With Michele T. and Falona G. celebrating our line anniversary

and here with Michele T. celebrating her being breast cancer free!

Wow. It just dawned on my that I could go on and on and on and on about the wonderful friends, mentors, and so much more that I have been connected to through Delta Sigma Theta. We've been through so much together. I could go on and on and on. . . .so I'll stop here. :)

Happy Birthday, Delta Sigma Theta! Cheers to the twenty two fabulous women who started it all back in 1913 and to the countless Delta women who continue to inspire me 98 years later!

The 22 Founders of Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Incorporated at Howard University.

Hearts intertwined

Spokesperson and survivor

So THAT explains the forty-somethings with the sorority tags on their cars!