Focus.
My read-o-meter is on overload. Seriously. I have read five books since May 19th, change of pace badly warranted so last night I caught up on the news around the world. While reading articles at two of my usual spots: The Root (www.theroot.com) and The Huffington Post (www.thehuffingtonpost.com) I came across this clip of an upcoming documentary called Dark Girls directed by Bill Duke and D. Channsin Berry. After seeing the women in the film, I was angry. After seeing that tiny little girl and her assessment, however, my heart broke into a million tiny little pieces. Witnessing not only what she has seen and heard in just a tiny little finger point but also, and most importantly, what she sees when she looks in the mirror.
Dark Girls: Preview from Bradinn French on Vimeo.
Now you understand.But wait: there’s more.
So, I continued perusing for more info on the documentary and then I came upon another heat-seeking target over at Jezebel (www.jezebel.com): Satoshi Kanazawa. This professor, who according to both sources above, has been unanimously ousted from his position at The London School of Economics, wrote a blog for Psychology Today’s site titled: Why Are Black Women Rated Less Physically Attractive Than Other Women?
Are you kidding me right now?
Help me, Baby Jesus.
Sarcasm.
Clearly, I was done…do you know ‘done’ when I say done? I was so done and admittedly, incredibly angry. Angry for the little girl in the video, angry for so many of our daughters that do not deserve this sort of reality: the reality that the world is completely misguided, and angry at mothers. Yes, mothers. Sisters - WE need to do better. Please don’t give me the It’s-her-absent-father nonsense because I have a two-part series for you 1) you chose him, 2) you are there. YOU. ARE. THERE.
Stop with the excuses. I was a single mother for a long time. There are no excuses.
I said it. Now what? Prove me wrong if you disagree. Who else is there to tell our babies that they are enough? ENOUGH! We would all like to be more than, you can work on that…but honestly, these little girls do not even have a running start. MY GOD. GIVE THEM A RUNNING START.
I went to sleep and did not sleep well, disturbed by both the video and the article. I was not ok…and then I remembered something:
Jazz is a many-faceted, many-talented, stunning pre-med student beautifully beginning her sophomore year at the college of her choice in the Fall. Jazzmyn is my daughter. She is MY daughter and I love her more than any word, phrase, comment or calling could ever express. She was my only way to right the wrongs that I chose. Being practically perfect in every way, I could not ask for a more honest, caring, respectful tiny little militant mini-me (even though she towers over me). Do I agree with every decision she has made? Well of course not, she is a mini-me, she is not a ‘literal’ me and really…who am I to judge? I made perfect choices.
Sarcasm.
My Jazzi-Phae is an interesting sort. For one, she never really sleeps, never did. Most people require sleep, Jazzmyn does not. Every once in a while because she is bored she will crash. Even as a baby, she hardly ever slept…but she didn’t cry. I’d go into her room at 1am to make sure everyone was breathing (am I the only one {O_o} doing that?) and she’d be wide-awake, thinking, I suppose. Never missing a beat, Ms. Howell sees absolutely everything with or without her glasses, lol. Keeping information close to her vest until just the perfect moment is a gift that she handles as if she is light years beyond the 19 she has enjoyed thus far. Having a quiet, unassuming nature, you would likely never hear her in a crowd: you would feel her presence. Honestly, she is that chick. Mini-me, indeed ;-)~.
When Roxanne (inside joke) started speaking, she reserved her tiny little voice for intimate conversations with her big brother Angel. No one made better sandwiches than he did, according to her, no one had the answer that he did, no one could soothe her tiny little tribulations the way he could. No one other than her father who to this very day, in her eyes, can do no wrong. And as crazy as that may seem to some of you, I am thankful for that part of who she is: protected, loved. When she looks in the mirror, she sees not just Jazzi-Girl, The “J” in J.A.C. City, The Pretty Girl with the Puff, or Jazzmyn Howell, she sees and hears the love from the people who would not only die for her but LIVE for her daily. Daily.
The Clark Doll test.
When that pretty little girl who had no hair at all until she was three years old, lol, was somewhere around five or six years old I exposed her to the Clark Doll test (it’s the same general test the little girl in the video was exposed to only it was with dolls. Mamie Clark was writing her dissertation in 1939 and developed this test). But let me give a bit of background.
I took Child Psychology when Angel was about five years old and couldn’t wait until he was old enough for me to see where his views stood on the subject. Because he was my ‘test’ child I tested lots of parenting skills on him – oh shut it! All firstborn kids are the test pilots. I was one and I know quite a few more. We had it a little harder, but we are also a little better because of it…yes? Anyway, The conversation went something like this (for those of you that know Mr. Howell, this will be a testament to the fact that he has always been opinionated!):
Me: Angel would you bring me two of Jazzi’s dolls, please?
Him: Ma, she doesn’t play with any of them. Maybe we should throw them away.
Me: Um, not the point. Bring me one white doll and one black.
Him (climbing off the chair he was preparing to jump from): She doesn’t even like dolls.
Me: Excuse me?
Him: Huh?
Me: If you can ‘huh’ you can hear me…*serious tone
Him: …huh?
Me: Dolls.
So in he brings two pristine Barbie dolls, same clothes, same hair. The only difference in the dolls was their color.
Me: Angel, which one is prettier?
Him: Which one is which thing O.o?
Please keep in mind that I KNOW he heard and understood the question, lol. This was a five-year old deflection and I was not having it.
Me (trying to hold in my laugh, failing miserably): Ok, fine. Which one do you think is smarter?
Him: Um…they are both dumb heads because they are girls!!!
Awesome. I was raising a sexist.
Ok, that was a seriously sexist comment, right? I was not trippin'. So we had that talk. Yes, I let it rest after I was sure this was little boy angst and not some weird issue. Again, we all know Mr. Ova Dose and his Mental Enlightenment. Clearly that was a momentary bout of psychosis. Anyway, being of the Cosby Show generation, when teaching a lesson, we take it to the head. Wait. That’s being of the ‘hood. Let me take another approach.
When an opportunity presents itself, give life lessons swiftly and firmly, in real time and as close to real-world as possible hoping to eradicate the behavior or at least plant a seed of understanding, immediately if not sooner. I asked him how much he loved me and he looked at me like I had 3 heads sprouting out of my shoulders. This look of astonishment said: There is NO greater love. I explained to him that at his age, girls are usually more emotional and therefore more loving, seemingly. So maybe he doesn’t love me as much as maybe, Jazz will love me when she is his age. I know my son and I know his determination, otherwise I would have chosen a different form of expressing my view. He knew exactly where I was going. The fruit does not fall far from the tree (Angel says, "Unless that tree is on a hill." Noted.)
Him: Am I rude?
Me: No, you were behaving like a 5 year old. YOU are never rude. Behavior may be rude, behavior may be unacceptable, but you…? Never. And besides, I don't love rude behavior. And you know who loves you more than anything else in this world?
Him: ME!
True story. And I’m not mad at that. But there’s more.
Flash Forward 5-6 years and something triggers The Clark Doll test in my mind. Jazz and I were playing with a Barbie doll head, the kind that has a head and shoulders only - with an enormous amount of hair. Ok, let me just be completely forthcoming here. I had one Barbie doll head and Jazz had the other. Literally. I bought 2. Lol. One for her and one for me. And still neither one of us has any more of clue when it comes to working on our own coifs. At any rate, having grabbed a few of her Barbie Dolls (over the years we developed a bit of a collection of cultures. There were Swedish ones (Thanks Anna-Lena Mcgrath), Hispanic ones (who other than Ingrid?) and of course a myriad brown of every hue available. I decided this was as good a time as any for a mothering litmus test as this gorgeous kid has always had a very healthy relationship with color and race. She, like her mother, is neither light nor dark. No one has ever overlooked either of us because of our color and if they have, neither of us would notice nor take it as a slight. That would simply have been their loss. Yeah, Jazzmyn is that chick.
Must be born this way.
Anyway.
Did I mention that although my mother is somewhat delusional she is and has always been the most beautiful woman I have seen in my entire life? My mother is dark, a rich beautiful sable and at 62 does not have even one wrinkle. And trust me if she did, she would rock that wrinkle like no other. I am thankful that she believed in her beauty, passed that on to my sister and I, and continues the tradition with her grand daughters - my daughter who she calls Slim and my niece Black Beauty III. Because of her all of the women, men, girls, and boys that came to this dimension through her have always felt like the world should stop at our feet. She did her job. Very Well.
Yeah Ms. Rena, is that chick.
We all have it quite honestly.
So back to little Miss Howell and the case of the Black & Swedish Barbie’s…
Sitting squaw-like on the living room floor, Jazzmyn had one hand glued to her face like a snorkel, thumb pressed absentmindedly against the back of her two front teeth, the free hand combing the curls out of Barbie’s hair after our wash and carefully placed roller set. To dry their hair, we sat Barbie in the sun on the back porch or in the window. We also wrapped her hair at certain times, but the finished product was not nearly as fun to play with.
Me: Jazzi-Phae-baby-girl…which Barbie is prettier?
Her (without more than a glance): The one that looks like you.
Me: Which one do you think is smarter?
Her (somewhat annoyed with the line of questioning): Mummy, they can’t talk. How would I know which one is smarter?
What did I tell you about Jazz, my Black Princess? What do you think she sees when she looks in the mirror?
I’m still saddened at the plight of so many little black girls not knowing their worth, but because of my personal Peace of Paradise, I have HOPE.
For all intents and purposes, fortunate or un-, this is my Life :-)~.
I love this!
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