Nik Nicholson's Blog, page 3

Family Roots

I started tracing my roots. I ask to see pictures. My aunts are weird about sharing their photos. Can someone tell me why?

I’d only take a picture of pictures I like.

Navigating Colorism and Co-Parenting Challenges

This is so random, but I had so many thoughts… and wanted to, I guess work through them. I also realized I hadn’t wrote a blog in a minute… I am writing though, and I wanted to put that here, so I’m not so hard on myself. And so when I look back I know what I was doing in these long absences.

Anywhooooo.

A woman in a group I’m in has a child with an absent parent. Recently, she learned the absent father had a child with someone else. More importantly, he has acknowledged the new baby on all his social media. He also appears to be more involved. So the woman is deeply wounded and outraged. To compound it, the new partner is white. In the Black community, we are still struggling with colorism (a colloquial for internal self-hatred/anti-blackness). So she attributes his involvement in the new child’s life to the race of the child.

Regarding the race of the white partner… This struggle is evident in urban music. Several Black rappers, rap they only date mixed women, women with good hair, or other WOC, but not wholly Black women. Some say they only date white women. One rapper said he doesn’t want any more all-Black children. And you can Google, where Kanye put out a video casting call for women with Black features but not fully Black, (biracial) and inclusive of any other Woman of Color.

It is also evident in photos and our magazines, that successful Black men tend to marry either very light women, or women of other races. In some cases, they actually divorce their darker wives and marry lighter Black women, biracial Black women (I understand the confusion of them being biracial and Black, it’s the one-drop rule white people created during the enslavement of Black people), or women of a completely different race. Currently, there is a movement by some successful Black men, where they suggest other Black men get a passport. This is a sly way of saying, don’t date Black women choose any race but Black..

There are tons of I.G. posts where these men claim women from other countries appreciate them the way they deserve. Then there are pictures of them with different women, they are objectifying, taking pictures of her from the back… Or the men being on dates with more than one woman. While the women are all fawning over them… I’m not going all into this. But I do see it a lot. I actually stopped following my favorite dancer in L.A. because he posted a video of a Black woman, he found unattractive, then insulted her because she had on lashes. He wrote a long post about how she only dates nonblack women, because he’s tired of the fake hair, fake lashes and nappy hair. Then all the “Passport Brothers” came out to disparage Black women, too.

When I noted that eyelashes and hair extensions are not solely a Black thing… A Black man told me I was too dark to hear. This was like last year.

There is a long history of colorism. In the past, Black people used something called “The Paper Bag Test.” A fair-skin group of Blacks used a paper bag to determine if other Blacks were light enough to join sororities, work certain jobs, be invited to events and there were even churches exclusively for people lighter than a paper bag. Madam Cj Walker and her daughter talk about being excluded from the Black upper class because of their dark skin, even though they had more money and resources than the people excluding them. While I was visiting Historically Black colleges in Atlanta, I walked the campus area and passed a church with a plaque noting they ended the paper bag test in the late 1980s. Like they were checking people’s skin color at the door.

Right now I’m fully appreciating the segregation in the Black community as I write this…

On top of this, marketing is a degree included in the psychology department. One of the best ways to sell magazines or any product is to be negative in a positive way. This means, preying on people’s insecurities. Creating demand for a supply, by pointing out their inadequacies and offering your product to overcome them. Today, shampoos and conditioners prey on people who don’t have their own ideal head of hair. “Is your hair too dry, brittle, frizzy, limp, too curly or too straight? Or they prey on women losing hair, which could be hereditary, hormonal, traction alopecia, alopecia in general, or ringworms. Of course, they are not going to refer people to see a Trichologist, which is a dermatologist who specializes in hair loss. I just learned about them a month ago… It feels like that’s because they are a secret… But anyway. These products make promises to heal their scalp and strengthen their strands to give them a healthy head of hair.

In that same way, products targeting Black people have always centered whiteness, and the benefits of lighter-skinned Black people. In addition to this, they pushed actual skin-lightening products that caused cancer, birth defects, skin burns and permanent skin damage.

In a different discussion, I want to explore why skin lightness was about survival and later became the standard of beauty… But this is about a woman whose child was neglected and now she’s witnessing a new biracial child receiving what she considers better treatment. Which may not be race-related… And then it could be. But I don’t think it’s beneficial to fight that battle. I think it is better for her mental health and her child, who is like eleven, to create actions that address his behavior past and present. Because honestly, this situation could have happened if he had a new Black fiancé. I mean, he and the mother of his new child are still together while she is pregnant and he is living at home with his family… All of the circumstances create an opportunity to be a better father. Family expectations, his guilt about the past and him still being connected to mom.

While this woman and the father were not together even during her pregnancy. She noted, she broke up with him because he was financially unstable, immature and irresponsible. She also noted, that he was petitioning the court to see their child, but then didn’t follow through. She attributes this to him having another child, but he could just be overwhelmed and not necessarily giving up on his first child. I think it’s important to not let our minds tell us the worst about a situation. I’m not saying see the best and be in denial, I’m saying don’t create narratives about someone that cause you agony. Don’t jump to all these conclusions. At most, remember you are human, you’ve made mistakes, and sometimes people didn’t know what was going on with you and made assumptions about you. Like we’ve got to stop thinking people are out here trying to hurt us… We have to remember how we’ve unintentionally hurt folks.

More importantly, and unfortunately, some fathers base their interaction with and responsibilities on their relationship with the mother of their child. Some men don’t think about how their relationship with their child is separate from their relationship with their mother. I’ve learned in conversations with absent parents. I have an uncle who doesn’t even know how many kids he has… He shared this with me when I arrived home to care for my father as he was dying…

He was concerned about who would look after him if he became ill. I realize this is selfish, but it started him to consider his role in his children’s lives.

As a result, I have a cousin, who we all know is his, I try to visit whenever I’m in town but she will not return my calls because she is done with the whole family as a result of her relationship with her father… See, how she loops all of the family in with her father? It makes me sad because we have similar names and were raised together. There are three of us girl cousins, all around the same age, who used to spend the night at my paternal grandmother’s together. The other girl cousin, by an entirely different brother, also doesn’t speak to the family… We were Facebook friends. She and her father got into an argument, then she deleted and blocked me. Which I didn’t notice until I realized I hadn’t seen any post from her… It was years before I told my dad about us disconnecting, and that’s when he told her and her father had it out. My dad like me, kept up with his entire family.

Tangent; AdHd… I’m kinda going with what comes up and also reigning it in. That cousin story could be so much longer. I love my family and try to keep up with them. I’m not sure why this is on my heart and I’m compelled to do this when so many of my relatives live in the same city and don’t see one another for years at a time. Back to what I was sharing about this missing dad that became super dad.

She also noted that the man had recently lost his job and hadn’t been able to find one in his field. As a result, he was evicted and had to move back to his parent’s home with his partner. Noting, that he told her he didn’t have the resources to pay child support. It’s not court-ordered, and it’s lower than the court would have required. But she didn’t want child support to do to his life what she’d seen it do to so many other Black men struggling. Now she’s angry with herself because she see’s him participating in his new infant’s life and the baby has all it needs, based on the dad’s social media…

            I also know, when we are upset we can’t see the forest for the trees. The father stayed in contact with her although she wouldn’t allow him to see their child. He also paid child support without it being required and without visitation per her wishes. He also communicated that he was going through a difficult time and would continue his payments once he found a new job. I mean, it kind of seems like the situation is what she wanted it to be… And more importantly, she didn’t actually give him an opportunity to have a relationship with their child, (he was petitioning to see their child, which means he asked and she refused) so he had to get the court involved. And he might not have dropped the petition because of the current baby, legal action requires money. Sooooooo….

In any case, this was my response:

I completely understand why you’re feeling upset about this situation. It’s frustrating when someone doesn’t fulfill their responsibilities, especially when it comes to being a parent. Seeing your ex with a new family might feel like a punch to the gut, particularly when he’s not stepping up for your child.

It’s important to remember that social media can be deceiving. People often portray their lives in a way that’s not entirely true. The new baby might have been unexpected, and they could be doing their best to handle the circumstances. It’s possible that his actions aren’t about race, but rather about learning from past mistakes. Maybe he’s trying to be a better parent now, even if it’s painful to witness.

I hope his growth as a father benefits your child, as well as his new child. I also pray that witnessing him being more accountable and responsible doesn’t negatively impact your child. When you’re in a space to take positive actions and moving forward I hope you will consider my suggestions.

I would “encourage” him to have a healing talk to address any insecurities or inadequacies that may arise as a result of this new baby. I hope he is mature enough to have a healing conversation with your child. In that conversation, he should acknowledge this baby is their sibling and not a replacement. Also, he should acknowledge his mistakes and absences, reassuring your baby that they didn’t do anything to deserve less care. It was his own youth and irresponsibility at play. He needs to step up and include them in his life going forward.

Long term, he should have your child down to meet their sibling. And play up them being a big sibling to the child. So they feel connected to the baby and not slighted by their birth. Which normally results in the big sister or big brother feeling involved, protective, and not neglected. This last part is standard for people welcoming new babies. Especially if the other child has been their only child for a long period of time.

Sending Love and Light

Holding Space for your hurt, rage, disappointment and mourning.”

I also want it noted, that when people show us that they have changed we have to mourn who they were and who we were as a result of our relationship to them. This is like, forgiveness without actually telling them. We have to make peace with the new person they are so we can be present and be who we are in the moment. We can’t let people pull us back to traumatic periods.

I could just tell by her posts and her angry comments on her own post, not in response to other commenters she wasn’t present… And that happens. I can’t imagine being pregnant alone. I can’t imagine feeling the father was so irresponsible him being around was a greater burden than giving birth and raising our child alone.

Also, at the root of every time I struggled to forgive someone, it was because being angry with them kept me from being accountable for how I co-created the situation. Like, I’ve definitely abandoned myself for people. As a result, I’ve gone through periods of not being able to trust my own choices. So forgiving others, allowed me to forgive myself and build a healthier relationship with myself.

Let me also add, I don’t necessarily believe you need to forgive people to heal. Not in the traditional way we’ve been taught to forgive. I never want to encourage people to ignore their resistance to forgiving specific people. Otherwise, forgiveness is like when we were children and forced to say we’re sorry. Now we apologize without thought, to get across the room, to be rude af and interrupt someone speaking… Apologies in so many interactions are disingenuous. This can also be true for not evaluating how and when we will move through hurt. However, you need to put the past to rest so you can be present.

For me, I acknowledge how much I’ve changed and recognize that I’m not an anomaly. People do change. I’m part of an artist community, I see folks shift weekly. Whether that is learning a new language, craft, dance, instrument or way to better understand themselves and others. Acknowledging my own shortcomings and faults anchor me in my own humanness. Which gives me a lot of patience.

Forgiveness doesn’t mean telling the person, rebuilding the relationship or even having a relationship. Some of our deepest wounds may be caused by people who are not alive, or who we will never see again because we’ve physically moved away from the situation.

When you share children, you have to figure out how to have a relationship with the other parent for the child’s sake. At least until the child is an adult and you can limit your contact with the other parent, because the child is old enough to meet their own parental relationship needs. But in other instances, there aren’t always benefits to staying connected. Some people don’t actually change, or they change for the worst. I give myself permission to return people to being strangers and not allowing every time I see them to spiral and relive the past… Not even a little bit.

As a teen and young adult, I was extremely depressed and unmedicated. I was actually institutionalized a couple times before I turned eighteen.  I didn’t even have friends in the traditional sense, I was too toxic. My energy was heavy and needy. People didn’t want to deal with me and I didn’t want to deal with myself, which is why the suicide attempts. Because of that period in my life, I realize that sometimes you have to let people go for your own mental health and peace.

That being said, I’d hate for someone to still see me and treat me like twenty-year-old me. In fact, I’ve removed people from my life for not allowing me to be who I presently am. I’ve had a lot of therapy, I have a better understanding of who I am, a better perspective on life, a better relationship with myself and goals that make me look forward to waking up. Not to mention I’ve created relationships with people who share my passions. Also, when you have Adhd, you may lack awareness, come across inconsiderate and seem like you’re on another planet. I literally went through behavior altering therapy.  Now, I’m usually the most rational person among my friends, because of all that therapy.

Once I started taking account for the mistakes I made, I made better friends. Now I’ve got several friends over twenty years.

Not to mention, in the end, some people who really hurt me in the past have become some very good reliable friends. One friend, has taught me that a person can’t give you what they don’t give to themselves. Even today, they are not really kind to themselves, and because of health issue, they are finally setting healthy boundaries, and addressing why they didn’t make good choices for their own life. When we were dating, I use to think, how could you do this. As a friend, I’ve been saying, why are you doing this to yourself. I use to want to choke them. Now I spend a lot of time teaching them how to be gentler with themselves. Which for me is powerful. They hurt me for a moment, but they have been harming themselves a lifetime… And because they abandon themselves, they are actually a better friend to me than they are to themselves, which is wild to say, but it’s how it’s showing up in my brain… And I recognize the inconsistency from what I said above, but I”m leaving it. I think it’s important to see a person learning in real-time.

Yesterday, they text to say they love me… And then text to make sure I got it.

I see conflict as an opportunity, too. But that’s another discussion… I give myself permission to be my whole self on my blog, while trying to reign my thinking out of respect for the people who visit. Wrapping it up.

I always make this disclaimer, this is a stream of consciousness blog. I”m moving through emotions, memories, lessons and processing as I write. So, I’m choosing not to go back and edit. I find when I edit, sometimes my ego takes control and changes what I’m actually saying and makes me look either perfect, heroic or as a victim. I don’t want that. I’m definitely a villain… “With an understandable backstory,” Ego says.

Healing Through Family: A Personal Reflection

Family teaches us our most profound lessons about forgiveness. My grandmother’s wisdom still echoes in my heart: “And if you keep on living, you’ll make some more mistakes.” She knew the dance of human imperfection, teaching us that forgiveness isn’t just a gift we give others — it’s a blessing we someday hope to receive. “Seventy-seven times seventy-seven,” she’d remind us. That’s how many times we’re called to forgive, a number so large it meant infinity.

My father’s memorial service became an unexpected celebration of family bonds, even though his absence was felt in every way — including his ashes, which Aunt Virgie didn’t bring to the gathering. It was a choice that weighed heavy on everyone’s hearts, especially since my dad took such care with his appearance, planning for a different kind of farewell. Yet somehow, even through this difficult reality, something beautiful emerged. The gathering brought together faces I hadn’t seen in years, each person carrying pieces of my father’s story in their memories. His side of the family filled the room with warmth and stories, reminding me that love persists even through our deepest challenges.

Looking back, I realize that while grief takes many forms, so does healing. Yes, there were difficult moments and choices I didn’t agree with, but focusing on the love that surrounded us that day — the cousins’ embraces, the shared memories, the gentle laughter — helped me understand that family is both our greatest challenge and our greatest blessing. I was present. I didn’t have my phone out and regretfully didn’t collect phone numbers, the connections we renewed that day left permanent imprints on my heart. Sometimes the most precious gifts come wrapped in the most unexpected packages, and even in the absence of what should have been, we found ways to honor Dad’s memory through our togetherness.

I also wanted to give a special shout-out to Willie Frazier for going above and beyond.

The hardest thing about my dad’s passing is… When something big happens, like this, I usually call him to get through it.

Kenneth Esse D. Elbert 8/21/1954 -11/18/2024

On a warm summer day in August 1954, where the Mississippi River flows, East St. Louis welcomed Kenneth Esse D Elbert into the world. Blessed with a vibrant spirit and great sense of humor. Kenny’s early days were spent amidst the bustling corridors of Lincoln High School. Yet, it was the humble embrace of The Orr-Weathers that cradled his fondest memories.

Young Kenneth, earned his GED to join the Illinois Central Railroad’s distinguished ranks. As a young Black man, pride swelled in his chest at securing such a respected position. But the era’s darkness cast long shadows—racism walked boldly in broad daylight.

Whenever trains whistled in the distance, Kenneth’s mind would drift back to those bitter memories. His white coworkers wielded racial slurs like weapons, holding him to impossible standards never asked of others. Though the job brought opportunity and family pride, each shift left deeper wounds. His natural gift for connection, born from a profound desire to belong, clashed against walls of prejudice.

Shift after shift, he’d clock out carrying the weight of rejection, harassment, and despair—struggling to comprehend humanity’s capacity for cruelty. In later years, regret colored his voice when speaking of those times, shouldering blame for not weathering the storm of indignities that barred him from a lifelong career. Fifty years later, in retirement some family members still called him a failure.  Going on about who he “could have been” if only his will had been stronger than the times. Yet the fault lay not in his strength, but in a system designed to break spirits as bright as his.

The open road crooned its liberating melody, and Kenny—restless spirit yearning for more—answered its call. Behind the wheel of an 18-wheeler, with his friend Marion riding shotgun, he found freedom. Each mile marker put distance between him and the weight of unmet expectations. The highways offered their own kind of redemption. At the helm of his rolling fortress, Kenny carved new stories across America’s sprawling canvas. In the end, perhaps the road itself became his truest companion, offering both escape and discovery—a path where expectations fell away and adventure waited around every bend.

But it was at The Adam’s Mark Hotel—now the Hyatt Regency St. Louis—where Kenny’s true calling emerged as a Food and Beverage Steward. Here, all his natural gifts and talents aligned like stars finding their constellation, fulfilling his deep-seated need for purpose. Like a master craftsman, he carved paths through mountains of tasks, his work ethic burning like a steady flame that illuminated the difference between simply doing a job and crafting excellence.

Kenny’s career reached new heights when he joined Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas as a Food & Beverage Steward. True to his character, he swiftly ascended to First Food and Beverage Steward—but where others saw career peaks, Kenny only saw new mountains to climb.

In the vibrant world of this grand hotel, he transformed everyday operations into a masterful performance. Kenny was a maestro, orchestrating a dance of efficiency and excellence. He developed protocols and nurtured talent, celebrating those who excelled and gently guiding others to find their true paths. Firing someone was a burden he bore with a heavy heart, always mindful of the family affected.

His straightforward approach, unwavering standards, and natural grace created an exceptional harmony of efficiency and hospitality. Kenny’s meticulous attention to detail, combined with his mathematical aptitude and quick intelligence, elevated routine interactions into memorable experiences. These qualities paved the way to his crowning achievement: becoming Food and Beverage Manager at Caesar’s Palace.

His management style became the stuff of legend in Las Vegas hospitality circles. Loyal to the family he’d built at Caesar’s Palace, Kenny declined offers from competing establishments. However, he delighted in treating his own family to the Strip’s finest restaurants, where he was always welcomed as an honored guest. His reputation had grown so distinguished that major hotels actively sought his expertise, inviting him to evaluate their restaurants and staff—a testament to his mastery.

Even in his final days, Kenny’s strength and positivity shone brightly as shadows lengthened. His baby brother Barry witnessed this eternal flame – despite being sick and dying, Kenny’s spirit soared through pain and struggle, telling jokes and asking about others, his caring nature burning bright as ever. Such was his essence: more concerned with lifting others’ spirits than dwelling in his own twilight.

Life’s stage saw Kenny play many roles—politician, journalist, preacher and aspiring comedian. Each role was a chapter in his story, a testament to his boundless curiosity and zest for life. In retirement, he found solace in the simple joy of owning a shoe shine stand, a reflection of his enduring love for elegance and style.

Kenny was an old-school gentleman. Young men called him “O.G.” or “Shoeshine.”  His brothers and peers affectionately dubbed him “Kenny Dog,” “Ken Dog,” “Dog” or by his middle name “Esse.” Every day was an occasion to present his best self to the world. Kenny’s appearance was a testament to his pride, each detail meticulously attended. He shaved with a straight razor and cut his hair. He hemmed his own pants, pressed his clothes every day, and of course, made sure his shoes were shined. After retirement, jeans were a rarity in his wardrobe. Kenny was always impeccably dressed, whether for a board meeting or a simple grocery run. Pride in appearance wasn’t vanity; it was a Black tradition, learned in his youth, when a young man’s dreams were measured in tailored suits.

Reflecting, Kenny would sing Frankie Beverly and Maze’s “Joy and Pain”—a song that seemed to echo his life. The soulful lyrics, “Joy and pain, sunshine and rain,” perfectly captured his journey, with both profound losses and the warmest depths of love.

Kenny painted joy wherever he went. Laughter was his gift to the world. He delighted in feeding others, sharing stories, and engaging in spirited games of dominoes. His tales were legendary, his laughter infectious, and his dance steps a celebration of life itself. Kenny’s smile was a warm embrace, a beacon of light that illuminated souls, making strangers into friends with a warmth that knew no bounds. When he danced to the sweet sounds of 70’s groove bands, the world seemed to dance with him. His signature smile will be dearly missed.

On November 18, 2024, Kenneth Esse D Elbert joined the ancestors. He was preceded in death by his beloved mother Mary Ann Elbert, his father Esse D. Elbert, brothers Timothy and Terry Elbert. Yet, his legacy lives on in the hearts of those he leaves behind: his daughter Nik Nicholson, his great aunt Finch, brothers James (Butch), Barry, best friend Joe Micelotta and a host of cousins, nieces and nephews who will carry his spirit forward.

              In Kenny’s world, every moment was a celebration, every stranger a friend-to-be, and every day an opportunity to spread joy. As the sun sets on Kenny’s earthly journey, his spirit dances among the stars, a testament to a life lived with passion, humor, and unwavering determination. His smile, now etched in memory, continues to warm hearts and touch souls, a testament to the beauty and grace he brought to the world, and a life magnificently lived.

December 6th, 4am

I can’t stop crying. I’m grateful everyone is sleep and I’m allowed to be alone with my feelings. People keep saying cheer up or what’s wrong when they know I lost my dad. I’m so hurt I can’t hide it for people’s comfort. It’s times like this when I wish I lived alone.

My dad finally died. I say finally because I never thought he actually would. He’d beaten death so many times, it’s almost unbelievable. I mean, I still want to call him. Stuff happens, I laugh, then think to call him and make him laugh. Then I cry. I used to talk to him every other day. Sometimes every day… and when he was getting closer to dying, I’d sit on the phone with him for so long I’d have to put my phone on the charger. I’m talking ten and fourteen hours. Nine hours was a normal phone call. Or several four hour calls.

I’d put my phone on speaker, and just go about my day. If it was getting loud, I’d put him on mute and he’d abruptly start asking, “Hello? Hello?” I’d tell him, that I was getting ready to turn on the blender, or chop something and didn’t want to put all that noise in his ear. He assured me he wanted to hear the noise I was making too. I’d be in the store with him on my headphones, listening to his television as he watched. Unless he was sleep. He was exhausted. He fought sleep, scared he wouldn’t wake up. When sleep finally caught him, he’d sleep five or six hours.

It was the first time it occured to me what it means when you live away from your parents. But I was in the same state with my mom who has no family. While my dad was living in our hometown surrounded by family. You could be surrounded by people and still feel disconnected and lonely. I’m feeling that right now.

I failed him. The last thing I heard him say,”Hang up, I don’t want to talk to her.”

I tried to take care of him in his last days. I’m an only child. It was supposed to be his brother and his sister. After I arrived, his sister took a break because she lives there. His brother arrived a few days after me, I can’t remember. Maybe a week or so later.

It was the worst and best part of my life. I got to read to him and sing to him. Sometimes we sang together. I got to play him movies I didn’t think he could die without witnessing. I showed him this Bollywood movie, RRR. He couldn’t believe the fighting, and at times he’d yell about how unbelievable some of the action was… and still be so thoroughly impressed, he’d be speechless. When he’d finally find the words all he could utter was, “Damn.”

I’ve been so heartbroken, I just don’t know where to start. I don’t live alone and mourning around people is selfish. I find myself hiding and crying in the shower or taking walks to nowhere just to exercise some of the aching in my soul.

I think I’m sad because none of his wishes were respected. I think I’m frustrated because many of his siblings don’t even know where their children are. I think if I’d just not tried to be there I’d still have the rest of my family. It feels like doing the best I could and failing was worse than not trying. I know you shouldn’t compare yourself, but my cousins… I don’t even know where they are. I don’t even know if they’d come to their fathers’ funerals.

Actually, I’m sure of one cousin who won’t. She left the whole family when she ended her relationship with her dad. Outside of my dad, I didn’t really see his family. I have an aunt and a couple cousins in the generation behind me I kept up with… And when I say keep up with, I’m doing all the keeping up.

I’m stupid like that. I check on people who don’t give a fuck about me. I worry about people who wouldn’t even notice I was gone… ANd I’m thinking of going. I’m tired of this world. Maybe I’m just hurting and venting…

I lost so much more than my dad and my partner doesn’t understand why it bothers me. He says if someone doesn’t care about you why do you care. He makes a great point but it doesn’t stop me from caring and getting my feelings hurt.

I’d connected with one of my great aunts who is also into geneaology. We’d spend hours on the phone. Her teaching me about my relatives. I never knew my fathers father. I never knew my mother’s father. I never knew either of my grandfathers… Which I realized when my first cousin lost her maternal grandfather and said he was the only grandfather she ever knew. Then I realized I didn’t know any of mine.

My dad’s father was older than my grandmother. He was born in 1915 or 1916. As I write this I’m realizing that he was born more than a hundred years ago and that’s just wild to me. He died in the early 90’s. I saw him once in the back seat of the car, as my dad was driving us to his aunt’s funeral. My dad always made everything a game, or maybe he was mourning and couldn’t process what was happening. His mother had just told him, the man he was named after wasn’t really his father but that the man on her porch was his father. And, he needed a ride to her sister’s funeral.

So my dad got in the car and started quizzing me and my mom. “Guess who this is?” He looked at the man in the rearview mirror as he prepared to drive. My mom started calling out titles. “Your uncle?”

“Nope.” My dad would answer, manuevering the car. I was too young to play. I just remember me and the tall lean gray-haired man examining each other. He smiled at me, maybe to comfort me. It was strange, I’d never been looked at so intensely. Now, I know he was examining his grandchild. I, always the curious one, wouldn’t look away. I think, maybe I thought staring at him would give me a clue to who he was. Before I could chime in, my father said, “this is my father.”

Then my mom looked back surprised and examined him and said I can see the resemblance. The man who my father was named after died the year I was born. So I don’t know what that man looked like and I’ve never seen any pictures of him. Actually, I don’t have many pictures of the people I do know in my dad’s family. I don’t know if that’s because my dad isn’t sentimental, but all the pictures I have of my dad are with my maternal family, where he tagged along with my mom on family vacations.

Anyway, I started an ancestry account and started researching my family after my cousin’s grandfather passed. I wanted to know more about my own family. I asked my dad whatever happened to his father. My dad told me he talked to him a few times on the telephone, but he didn’t get a chance to really get to know him. This was this year, I think, so we were having a lot of important conversations because I’d been told he was going to die.

I wanted to ask him all the questions I could think of because sometimes when I asked him questions about my grandmother, like basic things, like her favorite color or something like that, he didn’t know. Also my dad seemed detached from his history. Like he called his grandfather by his first and last name. He’d say things like, “Tom Hill married an Indian.”

All my life he’d talk about a woman named Aunt Cille, who had hair down to her calves. My dad was brown and his siblings were brown, but all his aunts, uncles and cousins were light. Outside of my grandmother’s grandchildren, my generation was light with fine hair. I’m writing and considering all of this right now. So I was curious.

I tried to build relationships with his side of the family, even as a kid. My paternal grandmother died in the 90’s when I was still a kid. So when I came back home to visit I would call over to my dad’s side of the family and try to see my cousins. This is before cell phones.

Now on my maternal side, I would spend the month going back and forth between all my maternal cousins houses. I was a special visitor so we got to do things like stay up all night watching tv. We got access to food we would never be allowed to eat on a regular basis. And we got to eat out a lot. My hometown makes everything different than anywhere else, so I had a list of things I needed to eat before I returned home.

I realized that I was a kid, it was summer, and the adults in my mom’s family were busy. So I’d call my dad’s cousins, who were adults and ask after my cousins. One time, one of my cousins stayed the whole summer with me in Vegas. I was looking forward to hanging out with her. She always made me feel like we were family.

Paternal adults would make promises. My maternal grandmother, maybe seeing a lot of me in herself, she believed heavily in family, would drive me in the old neighborhood where my dad once lived walking distance from all his family. They all lived in houses around the corner from each other. He’d tell me stories of growing up staying at different cousin’s houses or them being at his. His world seemed so much bigger than mine.

Being an only child growing up so far from my whole family I had a lot of misconceptions about family. I longed for a world where me and my cousins hung out all the time. I’d had a couple pinpals I still wrote up until high school. I was big on maintaining connections.

Recently, talking to my mom about her own mom, I told her my grandmother believed in a different world. My grandmother would say her five children were a fist and that she wanted them to stand together. My grandmother was always helping someone. I never went to daycare and neither did any of her grandchildren, she kept us all. She kept other people’s children too. And, this is a huge deal because one of my uncles has five kids. At one point, she was also a foster parent and kept even more kids.

My grandmother believed in community. She always cooked too much food, but there weren’t always leftovers because anyone hungry could come eat. Also, when I grew up, no one had their doors locked. Folks just walked up and walked in. If you pulled up to a house in my family on either side and the door was closed and locked, there was no one home.

And we thought something was wrong with people who locked their doors too. Like what were they locking them for… I mean, we’d lock the door at night on my maternal side. My dad’s mother’s house was open almost twenty-four hours. My daddy’s people were night people. My grandmother might not get up til 11am or later. She’d start cooking dinner and breakfast at the same time. My mother’s mother woke up with the roosters, baby. Four or five am she’d be up talking on the phone to somebody else up that early. Now that I’m an adult, I can’t imagine calling anybody’s house that early. I can’t even imagine anyone calling me that early… But they might call me really late, cause they know I’m a night person.

I’m super tired. And frustrated. And grieving. Maybe I will come back to this. Forgive grammar and spelling errors. I had a lot on my heart and just wanted to get it out.

My Dad Is Dying 3/20/2024

It’s 1:35 am here. 3:35 where my dad lives. Under normal circumstances, we talk at least 3hrs a couple times a month. Now we talk every other day, ignoring each other’s calls when we don’t have the energy. On top of that, we’re talking 4 or 5hrs a couple times a week. We know he is dying and these are our final moments, though we’ve never said anything directly.

(By the way, he’s on the phone now, cleaning out his kitchen.) This is a note to myself to talk about this deep cleaning. I have Adhd and my thoughts are all over the place. We’re in silence now. He’s literally vacumming out his cabinets. Another day, he was washing down his base boards.

(Ive lost the other thought I was in the middle of when I started making the previous note. So, I’m going to just go with this. I’m crying. My dad has placed his phone down so he can vacuum. He could turn on mute, or just go and we could talk tomorrow. But, he’s not promised tomorrow. Soooo, I’m typing this to the hum of him vacuuming, his tv and music.

This is so upsetting, I’m literally balling. I get some tissue to wipe my face and instinctively blow my nose.

“Huh? What you say?” The vacuuming stops. I can feel him listening. I can’t believe his phone is loud enough for him to hear me over vacuuming. Or that his ears are that good. Cause I grew up with bass in headphones, that literally thumped on your head if you turned it up to the loudest. I sometimes can’t hear him in regular atmosphere with headphones on…

“I didn’t say nothing.” I promise. Lying. I’m Jada, Set It Off crying. He’s Cleo, taking a smoke before facing a fire squad.

I’m getting off the phone. 1hr of just being quiet. Me muting crying. Already missing him.

Animated Tarzan Movie

Years ago, I fell in love with the animated Tarzan series. I feel like someone in my family watched the old version. This 2013? Tarzan is so implausible. He over powered a silver back gorilla. Jane fell in love? Class says never. I laughed way too hard at the wrong things. It was entertaining.

Animated Tarzan Movie

The New Robber Baron

So, I was looking for something online and couldn’t find it. I found it in small amounts and not what I wanted specifically. So I created it. Now I’ve got a book of information, accidentally. I’m sure if I’m looking for this, someone else wants it. In fact, I know at least 400 people who are not my friends who want to know. The flip side is, what are they willing to pay for it?

Anyhow, I write so I put a book together. It’s instructions on creating certain crafts, so it has tons of pictures and examples. It was painful putting the book together. I have bought similar books targeted at another audience and adjusted for my needs.

Forgive me. Yes, I’m being intentionally vague. We’re all capitalists, you know. And if this works, it could fund my whole hobby. LOL!! Because I’ve been working just to collect. Lordt. I tell way too much of my business on this blog.

Anyway, the first book I made the binding was in the wrong direction. It was my dream direction if I was going to get these. Which I didn’t find out until I was trying to upload it on Amazon. I was so bummed, I actually took a couple days off.

I decided to order something similar to what I was making because I’d already used up the books I had. Again, they aren’t really for this purpose, but I know other people who use these in place of the thing I’m creating. Guess what, the book was a quarter of the size of the books I buy in person and the only one I could find online. This product inspired and motivated me to get back to creating. It affirmed I was on the right path.

So I formatted a new book. It took several late nights. It wasn’t as hard or time-consuming as the first time because I had already written all the directions. I just had to reconfigure the entire book and organize the pages so they were pleasing to the eye in the new parameters. I mean, I also needed to learn a new program. Then I had to switch between three programs and some online converters.

Then I find out that the paper quality I needed wasn’t available for some of the cut out pages. I research other publishers but there is too much upfront money. I mean, I’d have to buy several of the books, keep inventory and physically mail orders. With my address on them…or get a P.O. Box. I want to just create information and let it sell itself. I don’t want to be checking my inbox for orders and going to the post office. I’m an introvert. A good day when I can stay home. More importantly, I like to take breaks from the internet for extended periods of times. I’d hate to have someone waiting on their order for weeks, while I live.

So Amazon, the new Robber Baron, it is. First off, I was so excited when I could finally upload the book to KDP. I kept getting pushback about pictures and captions being outside the printing margins. I adjusted the bleed and it was still annoying af.

This morning when everything went through and I was able to preview the book, I couldn’t contain myself. I wanted to scream in victory. But it’s 3am. I’m just assuming my family wouldn’t be psyched to join me in celebrating. Soooo, I waited for my preview. It looks ok. It’s better than what’s available. If this goes well, I’ll invest in a different publisher because Amazon’s cut is rape.

Dude, they say that I’m getting 60%. Which is pretty high, when you consider traditional publishers pay you only 15% of the cover price and you have to split that with your agent. Not to mention, all the money you put out for your own editors to get your story up to snuff… Cause all first drafts suck.

The book costs 8.44 to print. Amazon requires me to sell the book for at least 21.00. I charge $25, though I wanted to be around 20. Somehow, 60% is 6.56? HOW THE FUCK? The math isn’t mathing. I’m going back and forth on the price. Because I’d like to make a flat $10 on each book. I was thinking that Amazon would take $2 on top of $8.44. Then I considered they may be offering free shipping. So I included another $2.

Similar books in the art store go for about $30. However, I have to see the quality of this paper and how well the visuals show up before I can charge that kind of money. We’re talking top-of-the-line products versus what I’m doing at home.

At the end of the day, I’m really upset about this Amazon cut. Jeff Bezoz made 7.9 million an hour in 2023. I’m just trying to make $10 a book. Ok. Rant over. If I have the energy and time I’ll come back and update you guys on how it went and I may even put a link to the book.

I have two other book projects going simultaneously. And I’m reading more… actually less if I’m being honest. I had read three books by 12/13 last month. I’ve been reading the same book this whole month. Anyway, I hope you are all well and chasing your dreams. Love and Light

PS: Iain editing.

I love my grandma’s vernacular, so I dip my toes in that sometimes. Peace

Redefining Realness: My Path to Womanhood, Identity, Love and So Much More

Recently I finished Janet Mock’s memoir. I mostly read nonfiction. This was the most poetic nonfiction I’ve read, ever. For some reason, I found this to be a hard read, even though the author is very open. Mock writes about her childhood and journey to being true to herself with beautiful language.

There were a lot of references she made to her childhood I could definitely relate to.

Reading her book reminded me of a lot of things I loved about growing up in the eighties. I appreciated her honesty. Her choice to share so much of her life is brave and bold and I respect her deeply for inviting readers into her life.

Mock signifies on Zora Neale Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God a few times throughout the text and with good reason. Redefining Realness is a rare autobiography in that it reads less like a memoir and more like a conversation with a homegirl. As I was reading I kept on thinking about the relationship between Pheobe and Janie in Their Eyes. I think Janet’s conversational tone and accessibility that made me feel like I was on my couch with a friend sharing secrets rather than reading a carefully constructed narrative. That, I think, is a gift and one that makes this book imminently readable.

I watched 1986 “She’s Gotta Have It”

I was trying to find an online streaming service that offered the original movie, from 1986. A group of poly folks were agreeing the 1986 version was one of their favorite movies.
I like that it was shot in black and white. The original Nola is gorgeous. For some reason, I thought natural hair ended with the 70’s. Growing up in the eighties, all the love interests in black movies or on television, especially BET, were multiracial or not black. They had long straight hair. Curls were a big thing. So it was interesting to see a black woman as the love interest.

Nola Darling from the original 1986 “She’s Gotta Have It.”

For starters, there is a lot of sex. Knowing what I know about porn, especially from different eras… the original was basically porn in the 80’s. I think sex is good to show if it actually tells you something about the characters or changes their chemistry and the plot. Two people laughing and fumbling who are usually smooth finding their groove. Realizing the way they’d been pouncing on people who were so usually enthralled with them doesn’t fulfill them. They like feeling something, being enthralled and they like butterflies. Or, someone really shy turning out to be a self-actualized, sex loving and active partner. Turning the guy off, making him feel inadequate especially since he’d been projecting some virgin identity on what he believed was a blank canvas. Then the sex is funny, she’s pushing him down, ripping at his clothes and he’s feeling taking advantage. Still he goes through with it because she’s what he wanted, maybe?… And then there is the morning after, when two people wake up different less masked and not different but more of who they really are. All of their fears apparent. But showing everything between people who we know are having sex, have had sex… We are already meeting them many mornings later. So it doesn’t change the plot or make it better. Sex that doesn’t alter the plot is just porn with characters we have more background on. Instead of the guy being a plumber or pizza delivery man, he’s Mars and she’s Nola the artist.

The new Nola Darling definitely has potential. There is a series with a whole cast of characters. It appears she is sleeping with a friend’s boyfriend. I hope here she will be more self-actualized. I’ve found the people who are polyamorous are very clear about who they are and what they want. I can’t speak for all poly people, no one can speak for or about an entire group. So her going to counseling would be about her own healing and growth.

Also, there is a lot of sex. As a queer person, I don’t like when anything focuses on my sex life too much. Yes, when you are and adult you have needs and you meet them. Relationships are deeper than sex. Being poly isn’t just about sex. In fact, it isn’t about sex at all. When I was watching the original, one character accused Nola of not being able to commit. Just because someone isn’t monogamous doesn’t mean they aren’t committed. It depends on the person. Nola right now, just seems like a black woman dating and she hasn’t found someone she’d like to settle down with. I don’t even know that I would call her poly at this point.

White women have been known to date many men before they decide to get married. They are open about seeing other people, as far as I can remember as I was coming up. Black girls who became black women, usually dated one guy. If a guy asked them out they weren’t interested in they didn’t go. White women might go to a few concerts, go out dancing. Sometimes they’d realize they loved the guy they were least likely to choose. While black women all had their standards. Nola seems to be just dating.

Also, the original made it seem like Nola didn’t have any standards. Yes, she didn’t respond to the cat calling, but no self-respecting woman would. I’m saying she seemed to deal with any man who spoke to her the right way. Which is her prerogative, but this doesn’t make her polyamorous, it just makes her single. Polyamorous people have specific needs as well and everyone can’t fill them. Jaime for instance, wouldn’t be a good person to date if he’s going to throw tantrums. Some jealousy is natural and normal. However, a person wouldn’t put themselves in a situation where they were a constant disappointment. It would be a drag to always be explaining one’s self. Or being told something is wrong with you. Then again, maybe it’s the times. I’d love to hear other people’s thoughts.

The 1986 Thanksgiving scene hinted Nola wanting to be in a relationship with all of them. Still she relied on Jamie most. Why is he married in the new version? It undermines who his original character is, completely. It also undermines their relationship. What even made Nola think about settling down, because as I’ve said she was just dating, is when Jaime threatened to start seeing another woman. He even said he wasn’t the kind of person who could spread himself between two people. The first Jamie wouldn’t be at Nola’s house married. So many thoughts. Just sharing and processing.