{Bringing Up Boogie} Single Mom Dating Is Confusing And Kinda Sucks Ass

I’ve been single since before Boogie was born. I was not with his father while I was pregnant or any time after that. I’ve dated since he was born. I’ve met people I liked but I’ve never introduced him to any of them. It didn’t seem necessary. None of them lasted that long and I didn’t want to complicate things that weren’t that complicated to me. I’ve even hung out—dated is a strong, strong word—with a few single fathers; we’d talk about our kids, but I didn’t want to meet theirs and they didn’t need to meet mine. Plus, I wasn’t sure what was appropriate anyway. Like, do you intro your kid after two dates? After two months? After sex? And if I already knew going in that whatever it was I was doing with this guy wasn’t a “long term thing,” then what was the point of an introduction anyway? Had I met someone that felt like relationship material, I would have been screwed because, really, I didn’t know how to respond or react to that. I figured I’d burn that bridge when I got to it. I haven’t been to it yet. 

Not even close.

But there was this man I met about four or so months ago. I actually liked him a lot. He was a single father and his son was his entire life and everyone else who was in his life knew his son, too. That was weird for me because I didn’t think it made much sense to meet his son if we weren’t actually in anything. It makes sense for Boogie to know my friends. I mean, everyone that’s in my life has met or will meet him if the opportunity arises. I guess it says a lot about my mind (and why I remain single) that I separate my friends from “men I like.” This particular man didn’t have such divisions.

We set up a play date that consisted of our two boys playing in the living room while we sat and talked and drank wine. I wrote about it last Halloween in my Bringing Up Boogie post, "Pumpkin Patches, Pumas & Play Dates: When Parenting Solo Takes On New Meaning." It was all too “family-oriented” for my taste. That situation has since run its course. Very recently actually. And I’ve been thinking about what happens now. Boogie absolutely adored him and his son and still speaks of them both—always asking when we’re going to see them and if he can call the son and invite him to go to the library with us. 

See, this was exactly what I was trying to avoid. That attachment. I change the subject or say, “Oh, he’s with his mommy now and they don’t live around here.” Or make up something else.

The man in question is an amazing father and he was very good with Boogie. There was no weirdness. I was weird because as a mother, I wouldn’t want some random woman being all Carol Brady with my child, so I had more of a hands-off approach the first time I met his son. Plus I’m kind of scared of other people’s children. The next couple of times (there weren’t that many) I tried a bit harder to not be so scared of the idea of interacting with them. It’s a fine line and I was anxious about crossing any. But I did watch as Boogie grew wide-eyed with this idea of a “not uncle and not grandpa” with whom he got to wrestle around and play Nerf guns (God help me) and hide-n-seek.

The last time the boys were together I noticed that Boogie was getting very comfortable with them and that worried me because there was no sign that this “thing” was really going anywhere.

I don’t want to put all my business in the street but even that last time was a weird space and part of me regrets ever bringing Boogie into the picture because now what? And I mean that for myself, too: “Now what?” I kinda got attached my damn self. I realized that the “hanging out” I was doing prior to this was because I was too scared to really get involved with anything or anyone. I was making subconscious decisions about men/boys that I knew weren’t a long-term match just because I wanted to avoid that inevitable confusion. I’m the kind of person who sees the end before I see the path. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

This time, I saw the end and it didn’t look that bad. Actually, I liked it. I let myself get comfortable with it. For good reasons.  I’m not sure how much I’ve spoken about my post pregnancy body here, but while I was pregnant with Boogie, I also had ten pound growth/tumor/mass/whatever in my uterus. It was a very high-risk pregnancy and there were times when—well, let’s just say it wasn’t fun. I had the mass removed when Boogie was two months old, so between the time he was born and the time I had the surgery, I still had a ten pound mass in my uterus. I looked six months pregnant AFTER I was pregnant. It was dicey and embarrassing when I was out with an obviously newborn baby and still looked like I was carrying another one, and I became very uncomfortable with my body. And after I had the surgery to remove the mass, not only did I have this ugly scar down the middle of my belly, I also had this flabby and stretched mark lump of skin. I’m a small person—about a size 2/4 in dresses. But no matter what I do, that skin isn’t going anywhere. Because of that, I avoided intimate situations. Not to say I didn’t have them—a girl’s got needs. But I avoided getting too close. I kept at least a T-shirt on at all times. I never ever got naked. I avoided mirrors and hated looking at myself without a shirt on. It made getting close to men very difficult because there would always be that barrier—something disconnected.

I bring this up because this last situation, he wasn’t having it. The others just accepted it and didn’t talk or touch or whatever, but this one made me feel beautiful for the first time in years. I didn’t feel disfigured or ‘broken.’ He was very comfortable with the scar and often placed his hand on my belly as we slept. I didn’t realize how much that meant to me as far as my personal need to feel loved that way. I thought I could go the rest of my life avoiding that and then here comes this person who challenged me and challenged it. I mean, we had actual conversation about this scarred elephant that I’ve avoided for four years.

So here I have this man that’s met my son and met my scars and didn’t run from either. And then there’s me who loves to run and hide. And as soon as I started getting a little comfortable, things ended. There’s always a reason. 

This one is too complicated and too personal to really get into, but the same way that Boogie felt “something” with this new friendship, so did I. You would think that it would make things easier moving forward—you know, now that I’ve been here and now that I know what it looks like, I should be ready for the next one. But it doesn’t get easier. And I’m not ready to go there again. If anything, it makes me wish I hadn’t even been there. I’m not one of those, “It’s better to have loved and lost” people. Fuck that. Don’t show it to me if I can’t have it.

I guess Boogie and I have even more in common than I thought.

* * * *

About our MBB Contributor:Bassey Ikpi is a Nigeria-born, Oklahoma-bred, PG County-fed, Brooklyn-led writer/poet/neurotic. She’s half awesome, a quarter crazy and 1/3rd genius... the left over bit is a caramel creme center. She’s also the single mother of an amazing man-child, Elaiwe Ikpi. Get more Bassey at basseyworld.com

If you would like to be a featured contributor on MyBrownBaby, email your essays/ideas/blog posts/rants/musings to Denene at denenemillner at gmail dot com.

{Bringing Up Boogie} Holy Batman and the Big Boy Bed: My Baby Is Growing Up

Bassey and Baby Boogie

Boogie turned four on November 30th. We had a superhero party for him because he’s obsessed with Batman and Superman. Or he was. The day of the party, he told me that he actually wanted a Toy Story birthday. Excuse me, what? You couldn’t have said something earlier? Like before I paid an anorexic black man to put on a Batman costume stuffed with T-shirts to make him appear muscular? (Let’s discuss this, Batman. First of all, you were my size. The end. I mean, really, how are you Batman, but I could probably take you in an arm wrestling match?)

Anyway, Boogie and his friends had fun. There was a moment when he turned really shy and didn’t want to dance. I’ve noticed lately that as outgoing and fun as he is, he doesn’t like attention forced on him. He’d rather get/earn your attention. If everyone is focused on him and he hasn’t done anything to deserve it, he gets really shy until everyone leaves him alone. Then and only then does the Boogie Monster come out, laughing and dancing and cracking jokes. Weird.

Along with turning four, Boogie also got his first big boy bed. A rocket-shaped Buzz Lightyear bed. This thing is kinda awesome. I mean, I kinda want one. 

It’s a birthday gift from my sister, and he was so excited that he refused to sleep in it the first night. Wait, let’s tell the truth: Boogie started climbing out of his crib at around 13 months. The first time it happened, I was watching TV (I mean writing) when all of a sudden this tiny hand touched my shoulder and I screamed like Chucky had come to life. It scared the crap out of me. I didn’t know how he’d done it. I was pretty sure he levitated out of the bed and my child was some sort of witch. He did it twice more in as many days before I camped out outside the bedroom door and watched my kid Prison Break himself out. He stood up in the crib, looked around to make sure nobody was watching, then he threw his leg over the rail, and shimmied down. When he turned around and saw me standing there, I swear on his life, he tried to climb back up. It was then that I knew this kid was weird. I mean special.

Anyway, he’s been in my bed or with my parents ever since. I wanted to get him a toddler bed immediately but my parents, who have been stricken with a virus that erased their memories of ever having had children before, felt he was too young. Too young? 

I’m pretty sure I was in my own room by the time I was a week-and-a-half old. And they made me get a job when I was three. That’s not true. My point is that I don’t understand how grandparents conveniently forget all the madness and torture they put their children through once they have grandchildren. 

For instance, I remember sitting in front of the same plate of food for a week until I gave in and ate the brussel sprouts. Meanwhile, Boogie can wrinkle his nose and say, “I don’t like that,” and my parents (or their alien counterpoints) look at me like he just confessed that I beat him and say, “Find out what he wants to eat and make it!” I’m sorry, what? Ridiculous.

Anyway, Boogie spent his first night in his Big Boy bed last night and as thrilled as I was to not have a foot on my neck or creepy little fingers brushing against my ear and scaring the crap out of me, I still felt a little—something. 

I mean, I understand that children grow up. Last night, I had dinner with a 14-year-old that I used to baby sit when she was four. All I could think was, “One day, Boogie’s going to be 14.” And watching him slide into his Toy Story sheets (with all the lights in the room on and the door open), I couldn’t help but feel a little sad. He’d already gotten dressed without me and when I pick out clothes for him, he deems them “not cool” and puts them back. He likes dressing like his uncles. Head- to-toe fresh. I was okay with the clothes. I was okay when he decided that he didn’t need me to go to the bathroom with him. Or when, last week, he was on his tiptoes to reach the bathroom light and this week, he just reaches up and flicks it like nothing. He no longer needs his stool to reach the bathroom sink. He pees standing up. I’m fine with all of that, but for some reason, the bed thing had me all fucked up. 

It took him a minute to fall asleep but when he did, I stood in the doorway, staring at my baby boy. I remember when he was rolling around and kicking inside of me and now he’s this full personality, fully actualized human being. I remember when I was his best friend; now he claims Maliq and Ian and Buzz Lightyear as best friends. He’s still a huggy and kissy little boy, but I dread the day when I ask for a kiss and he refuses to give me one. Standing in the door way, watching his chest rise and fall under the comforter, I knew that he wasn’t going to be “my little boy” for much longer.

But he’s always going to be my baby.

I hope the world treats him well. I hope he treats the world well. I hope he remains filled with laughter and jokes and kindness. I hope he changes the world, instead of letting the world change him. I know that’s a lot to go through just by watching him sleep; like, I’ve watched him thousands of times before. But he’s growing up and as much as I was happily looking forward to it, I’m going to miss the tiny newborn that fit in my forearm. One day, I’ll tell you his birth story. How extraordinary it is. How grateful that I am that he made it, despite all signs to the contrary. But today, I’m going to sit in this bed by myself and listen out for his, “Mooooomy! You want to play Scooby Doo? You can be Daphne.”

* * * * * * *

About our MyBrownBaby Contributor: Bassey Ikpi is a Nigeria-born, Oklahoma-bred, PG County-fed, Brooklyn-led writer/poet/neurotic who is the single mother of an amazing man-child, Elaiwe Ikpi. She's half awesome, a quarter crazy and 1/3rd genius... the leftover bit is a caramel creme center. A strong advocate of mental health awareness, Bassey is currently working on a memoir about living with mental illness and producing Basseyworld Live, a stage show that infuses poetry and interactive panel discussions about everything from politics to pop culture. Find more Bassey on her site, Bassey's World.

If you would like to be a featured contributor on MyBrownBaby, email your essays/ideas/blog posts/rants/musings to Denene at denenemillner at gmail dot com.

{Bringing Up Boogie} There Is No Comfort In Silence

Editor's note: If you follow poet and Bringing Up Boogie columnist Bassey Ikpi here on MyBrownBaby, you know that she is a tireless advocate for mental health. You should know, too, that she's equally passionate about HIV/AIDS advocacy—specifically building bridges of acceptance and love between people without HIV toward those who do. Her mission is to remove the stigmas that come with the disease, with the hope that doing so will encourage people who are at risk or infected to get smart, get tested, get help and get support. Considering how HIV/AIDS is devastating black women—check out this story, which chases down stats showing black women have the highest rates of new HIV/AIDS infections but get very little attention in the fight—it is high time that we got smart not only about protecting ourselves, but embracing our sisters and helping them find their way. Shout out to Bassey for this piece, which she performed in this YouTube video with Talib Kweli, as part of Global Grind's "Positive Charge" campaign, which debuted on  World AIDS Day. Below the video are the words—each and every one of them raw, beautiful, relevant. Necessary.

There Is No Comfort in Silence

By BASSEY IKPI

don’t ever forget your body

don’t ever forget this heart

that saves

this thing that pushes blood

and oxygen

this pulsating beating living thing

don’t ever forget your heart

your lungs

your breath

this mass of tissue and muscle that

holds your compassion hostage

HIV will not hold you hostage

eliminate the sigh

eliminate the look that weighs tons

free the loveliness

the comfort

embrace the spirit that longs for touch

you must do this in solidarity

for those afraid

those who turn their body over to sickness

you must tell them that they are loved

that they can remain whole

despite this thing that threatens the blood

but you will never threaten love

will never withhold

will only embrace

offer comfort like a sweetness dancing on your tongue

Make the earth a promise

and exhale this vow into the wind

“I will love you always.”

let the breeze carry it across the earth

let it touch the women, the men,

the babies, the families

let it touch the continents in need of healing

and understanding

let it touch the hearts that need it.

there is no comfort in silence

hold the hand that aches for peace

hold the body that aches for peace

offer them a morning without  judgement

offer them a night without shame

offer them a peace that holds centuries

carved into their throats

allow them the freedom of a hollow scream

allow them the pleasure of acceptance

allow them a glittered night

 golden, halo of sun

bodies warmed by understanding

cups overflowing with encouragement

this battle deserves an army

this war, a fair fight

this love serves as ammunition

a warning shot into the distance

say, “we love you always.”

then say it again.

then say it again

and again

and again

and again

say it once more

until the silent find their voices

hidden in the corners without light

hand them candle

hand them torch

hand them bonfire

burn courage into your chest

watch it scar over

tough and impenetrable

then listen

the heart beats a welcomed

love song

the spirit spills peace into your veins

courage

there will be no room for secrets

there will just be this desire to live

to do what it takes to make your days longer

to dull the ache that comes from silence

to offer fistfuls of truth and acceptance

send a message into a wind

spin it into a thousand hurricanes

create a whirlwind of strength

let it fall

a thousand raindrops upon their heads

until they are soaked with the truth of this

“we will love you always.”




* * * *

About our MBB Contributor:Bassey Ikpi is a Nigeria-born, Oklahoma-bred, PG County-fed, Brooklyn-led writer/poet/neurotic. She’s half awesome, a quarter crazy and 1/3rd genius... the left over bit is a caramel creme center. She’s also the single mother of an amazing man-child, Elaiwe Ikpi. Get more Bassey at basseyworld.com

If you would like to be a featured contributor on MyBrownBaby, email your essays/ideas/blog posts/rants/musings to Denene at denenemillner at gmail dot com.

{Bringing Up Boogie} For Black Moms Who’ve Considered the Cuss Out When the Playground Banter Is Too Much

Editor’s Note: I dug deep into the MyBrownBaby Crates for this piece, which I gathered together one Sunday afternoon while I was fussing around on Twitter and came across poet and writer Bassey Ikpi’s tweets from the frontlines—er, playground. What started out as a lazy, playful afternoon for the Baltimore-based mom and her deliciously cute son, Elaiwe, quickly turned into a “get it straight” verbal smackdown when another mom questioned whether her son was “slow.” Right. In one almost hour-long twitter stream, Bassey expressed the fears, frustration, and anger black parents face when others make foul, wrong-headed assumptions about our brown babies. Here, the blow-by-blow of Bassey brilliantly breaking down why it’s just never a good idea to “innocently” verbalize said assumptions about black children to their moms, as told through Bassey’s tweets.

By BASSEY IKPI

• At the park with Boogs. Poor thing needs some friends. He's trying to convince some big kids to let him play soccer. 1:29 PM Aug 30th from twidroid

• This kid isn't afraid of anything! Where did he get that from? I long to be that free and unafraid. 1:31 PM Aug 30th from twidroid

• Ugh! This is why I hate hanging out with parents I don't know. Just because our kids are playing together don't mean you and I should talk. 1:39 PM Aug 30th from twidroid

• E is clearly smaller than your kid. Why would you ask me if he's delayed? Do people do that? Am I wrong? 1:40 PM Aug 30th from twidroid

• I was like… what? He's 2 and a half. She goes, what?? Then she wants to compare notes. He started walking when?? He says what??? 1:42 PM Aug 30th from twidroid

• Bitch, you started it! I wasn't trying to tell you he was a genius. I was letting him play with your barely talking yet 5 year old. 1:43 PM Aug 30th from twidroid

• White people blow me with that! He can't be gifted? He has to be tiny and slow?? 1:44 PM Aug 30th from twidroid

• My 2 year old is convincing your 4 year old not to be scared of the slide and you trying to say what to me? Ridiculous. 1:46 PM Aug 30th from twidroid

• And yes I am tweeting in her face. 1:46 PM Aug 30th from twidroid

• Boogie is having fun but if this chick doesn't stop with the questions. Like I'm going to say well when his home planet was destroyed... 1:50 PM Aug 30th from twidroid

• "Oh his father must be thrilled." Someone is about to be arrested. 1:52 PM Aug 30th from twidroid

• I'm taking my cues from Michael. I'm a lover not a fighter. I just explained to her that her questions come off both rude and racist. 1:56 PM Aug 30th from twidroid

• She apologized and said that she saw how he was behaving and assumed he was older but because he is small she thought he was autistic... 2:01 PM Aug 30th from twidroid

• I'm not sure how that's better... but I asked her why she wouldn't assume that he was advanced for his age rather than slow for his size. 2:02 PM Aug 30th from twidroid

• Hell why not just ask me how old he is? She said she was just stunned bcuz her 4 yo 2:03 PM Aug 30th from twidroid

• Doesn't speak as clearly and isn't as self possessed as E is. I said that has nothing to do with me and my kid. 2:04 PM Aug 30th from twidroid

• Was that rude? I'm not trying to be rude but Boogie is just Boogie. I don't compare him to other kids. 2:04 PM Aug 30th from twidroid

• She shouldn't compare little Dakota or Simon or whatever. No wonder he's so scared of slides. Let the boy live. 2:05 PM Aug 30th from twidroid

• Crap. Stupid bleeding heart. Now I feel bad. 2:06 PM Aug 30th from twidroid

• Boogie: What happened, mama? Me: That lady is stressing me out. B: Me too! Can I have ice cream? (Love this kid) 2:13 PM Aug 30th from twidroid

• E is fine for his age. He's smart but he's not Doogie. So to think he's a tiny 5 year old that's slow? What time is your plane to conclusions? 2:14 PM Aug 30th from twidroid

• It was more how she asked. He started walking early. He started talking early. Yes he eats fast food. Yes he watches TV… 2:17 PM Aug 30th from twidroid

• These are just facts. I'm not all hmph.. give your kid a happy meal. That's what works for ME! (Kinda) 2:18 PM Aug 30th from twidroid

• I get nervous about my parenting but I know I'm doing the absolute best I can. That's it. Leave me alone random white woman! 2:19 PM Aug 30th from twidroid

• Oh I don't feel bad. I know Boogie is awesome. I just was annoyed by the whole conversation. I don't like talking kids with parents.

• So if I'm saying yes he knows a lot of words. Yes he's pretty fearless. Yes he's very confident. LEAVE ME ALONE. 2:23 PM Aug 30th from twidroid

• Ok. I'm done talking about this. You can't be mad and eat ice cream. It's like illegal in 4 countries. Thanks for listening to me! 2:24 PM Aug 30th from twidroid

About our MBB Contributor:Bassey Ikpi is a Nigeria-born, Oklahoma-bred, PG County-fed, Brooklyn-led writer/poet/neurotic. She’s half awesome, a quarter crazy and 1/3rd genius... the left over bit is a caramel creme center. She’s also the single mother of an amazing man-child, Elaiwe Ikpi, who, as you can see in the picture above, be flyer than most, even on a sick day. Get more Bassey at basseyworld.com

If you would like to be a featured contributor on MyBrownBaby, email your essays/ideas/blog posts/rants/musings to Denene at denenemillner at gmail dot com.

{Bringing Up Boogie} My Boy and the White Barbie—Cozying Up Under the Christmas Tree

By BASSEY IKPI

Boogie is in that “can you buy me that?” stage of life. I dread commercials with anything that races, flies, explodes or turns into a robot-monster-dinosaur truck. If it looks like it might kill you, Boogie wants it. When we’re out shopping and he goes through the, bug eyed, mouth wide open, “OH MY GOD!” process, I tell him that I don’t have any money or I only have enough money to buy exactly what we came for. He’ll pout and “oh man!” or say, “Well, do we really need toothpaste?”  but he’s fairly good at listening.

One day at Target, he asked for a Kindle (Yeah. I know.), and I said, “Boy, we’re in a recession.” He looked at me and responded, “Mommy, we’re in a Target.” I’m grateful that he doesn’t throw tantrums like the kids I step over in the toy aisle but still the “can you buy me that” gets a little annoying. 

So this morning when I woke up and found Boogie upstairs watching The Fresh Beats (you know from my post a few weeks ago how I feel about that) and thumbing through a Wal-Mart  Christmas mailer, I groaned to myself. Halloween was last weekend. It’s  not even Thanksgiving yet and can I get some pie before I have to wrap presents? Damn. I watched him for a little bit ,waiting for him to ask for a super Transformer Monster Truck Bicycle Power Ranger Batman car... thing. (He knows better than to ask for a gun.) But when Boogie noticed that I was in the room, he looked up with those  massive brown eyes, long curly lashes and big smile and  said, “Good morning! Can you buy me a Barbie?”

I’m sorry what?

I said, “Do you mean a Barbie like a bar-b-que?”

He said, “No. I want a Barbie. This one.”

And sure enough he pointed to the iconic toy. That’s what he wanted. I took a closer look to make sure it wasn’t some sort of Barbie-shaped gun or torpedo launcher. Nope. It was Barbie in all her Dream Townhouse glory. And I was confused.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind buying my son a doll. But he’d never shown any interest in dolls before and I really wish if he did, that it wouldn’t be Barbie, of all hideous things. Before I could say anything else, my brown-faced gorgeous baby boy said, “I want the white one.”

*record scratch*

What? What do you mean you want the “white one?” I immediately went from “You want a doll?” to, “Oh, and now you want a ‘white one?!’ Boy!” Somehow, I calmed myself down enough to say, “Baby, wouldn’t you rather have a black one?”

He said, “No. I want the white one.”

I said, “But the black Barbie is so pretty. Don’t you want a black Barbie that’s pretty?”

He said, “No. I want the white one. I saw the black one in the store and it was nekkid. I want the white one.”

I had no idea where this conversation came from or where it was going, but now I was firmly in Parental Confusion Land. You know, the place when your child says or does something so outrageous that your only response is a confused, “Oh... okay.” Like when I asked him why he had on two watches and he said, “Because I need to know what time it is all day.” Oh... okay.

Now let me clarify the “black one was nekkid” thing. In Boogie’s world, “nekkid” means shirtless for boys and/or wearing a bathing suit for girls. “Naked”means without clothes. I have no idea how he decided to make this distinction, but like with most things Boogie, you just gotta accept it and move on. He gets it and that’s all that matters. So I’m pretty sure that the black Barbie had on a bathing suit and he didn’t want anything to do with that. But still, if I’m going to buy my son a Barbie, I’m buying him a black one, dammit!

So I said, “E, I’m not buying  you a white Barbie.”

And he said, “Why not?!”

And I said, “Because YOU aren’t white! Why would you want white Barbie?”

And he said, “Because it’s cute.”

Me: “WHAT?! Are you trying to say that the black Barbie isn’t cute?!”

Before I knew it, my neck was rolling and I had the black girl finger up. (Let me interject here by saying I knew how ridiculous this conversation with my not-quite 4-year-old son was, but I felt like we needed to have it. I’m not raising no color complex!)

Boogie looked stunned for a second and said “No... the Black Barbie is pretty like you and Kanke and Grandma, but the white Barbie is cute and not nekkid.”

“So why do you want a white one and not a black one? I don’t understand.”

Boogie could tell that he had somehow upset me, but he wasn’t sure why, so he spoke very slowly: “Because I see pretty black people all the time. Plus the Barbie in Toy Story was white.”

Oh... okay.

It’s true. The Barbie in Toy Story was white. I’m still trying to figure out why I reacted so strongly to his declaration that he wanted a white Barbie and not a black one. Raising a brown boy into a black man in this country is difficult; all the subliminal messages about what’s good and what’s bad and who’s good and who’s bad sneaks in before you know it, and I got a little scared that my baby was starting to feel like his brown wasn’t beautiful. Boogie’s concept of race is all over the place. He thinks light-skinned people are white, and he identifies my friends by skin tone. “Chris That’s the Color White.” and “Mychal That’s the Color Brown not Michael That’s the Color White.” (Both of them are actually black men.)

Outside of distinguishing features, ethnicity doesn’t mean much to Boogie and I felt wrong for injecting race in a conversation that was simply about the toy he wanted because of the movie he loved. But at what point is the conversation valid and necessary? 

I want Boogie to love his skin and his heritage and his people, but I want him to respect and love the culture and heritage of others. When I was in college, I was all Arrested Development, Badu-ified, and I just knew that any child of mine would go to an African school and wear African clothes and speak African... like Africans! Apparently, being half Nigerian wasn't enough.

Now that I’m older and my worldview has expanded, I know I want my son to have a more layered approach to loving himself and respecting others’ differences. I know I have to teach him that before the world teaches him different. I just don’t know how to raise a child who is proud of who he is and accepting of others without upsetting that delicate, child-like innocence that makes so much sense in his big ass head. 

I do know this much: I'm still not buying him a white Barbie.

I'll buy him a gun first. 

Oh... okay.

* * * * *

About our MyBrownBaby Contributor: Bassey Ikpi is a Nigeria-born, Oklahoma-bred, PG County-fed, Brooklyn-led writer/poet/neurotic who is the single mother of an amazing man-child, Elaiwe Ikpi. She's half awesome, a quarter crazy and 1/3rd genius... the leftover bit is a caramel creme center. A strong advocate of mental health awareness, Bassey is currently working on a memoir about living with mental illness and producing Basseyworld Live, a stage show that infuses poetry and interactive panel discussions about everything from politics to pop culture. Find more Bassey on her site, Bassey's World.

If you would like to be a featured contributor on MyBrownBaby, email your essays/ideas/blog posts/rants/musings to Denene at denenemillner at gmail dot com.