*X-MAG
CULTURE CORNER JULY 2009 *
Interesting
as only Maya Angelou can express it.
Go and
hug your “Michael” by Maya Angelou…
Yesterday I cried watching the Michael Jackson memorial. I cried for a
little
black boy who felt the world didn't understand him. I cried for a little
black
boy who spent his adulthood chasing his childhood. And I thought about all
the young black boys out there who may too feel that the world doesn't
understand them.
The ones who feel
that the world does not understand their baggy jeans,
their swagger, their music, their anger, their struggles, their fears or the
chip on their shoulder.
I worry that my son,
may too, one day will feel lonely in a wide, wide world. I cried for the
young children of all colors who may live their life feeling like a misfit,
feeling like no one understands their perspective, or their soul.
What a burden to carry. As a mother, I cried for Katherine Jackson because
no mother should ever bury a child. Period. And I think about all the pain,
tears and sleepless nights that she must have endured seeing her baby boy in
inner pain, seeing him struggle with his self-esteem, and his insecurities
and to know he often felt unloved even while the world loved him deeply.
How does it feel to
think that the unconditional love we give as mothers just isn't enough to
make our children feel whole?
I wonder if she still
suffers thinking, "what more could I have done?" Even moms of music legends
aren't immune to mommy guilt, I suppose. When Rev. Al Sharpton ("who always
delivers one" awesome "funeral speech") said to Michael's children, "Your
daddy was not strange....
It was strange what
your Daddy had to deal with," I thought of all the "strange" things of the
world that my children will have to deal with. Better yet, the things I hope
they won't ever have to deal with anymore. And as a mother raising a young
black boy,
I feel recommitted
and yet a little confused as to how to make sure my son is sure enough
within himself to take on the world. Especially a "strange" one. To love
himself enough to know that even when the world doesn't understand you,
tries to force you into its mold or treats you unkindly, you are still
beautiful, strong and Black.
How do I do that?
Today, I am taking back "childhood" as an inalienable right for every brown
little one. In a world, that makes children into booty-shaking, mini-adults
long before their time, I'm reclaiming the playful, innocent,
run-around-outside, childhood as the key ingredient in raising confident
adults.
Second, I will not
rest until my little black boy, MY Michael, knows that his broad nose is
beautiful, his chocolately brown skin is beautiful, and his thick hair is
beautiful. And nothing or no one can ever take that away from him."Now aint
we bad? And ain't we black? And ain't we fine?
---Maya Angelou
Larry
Skinner
Amanda
Samara Reaves - Illustrator
