Showing posts sorted by relevance for query black moms. Sort by date Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query black moms. Sort by date Show all posts

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Black Moms and Ghetto Parents: They Are NOT One in the Same

Five years ago, Nick and I traded in our home in a lovely, comfortably upper middle class neighborhood in New Jersey for a house in an equally beautiful neighborhood in Georgia that just happens to be a stone’s throw away from a town full of working class/blue collar Georgians who have, shall we say, some interesting child-rearing tactics.

They cuss around and at their kids in the middle of the cereal aisle.

They fight with their significant others in public, in front of their kids, and slap the little ones when they get out of pocket, especially if there’s an audience to witness their discipline.

They let their kids roam the streets until somebody else’s mother tells the kid to go home.

They ride around in their cars with the windows rolled up, chain smoking while their babies bounce around in the back seat, sans seatbelts and boosters—their little lungs taking in a lifetime of carcinogens, their little bodies one sharp brake from flying through the back window.

When it comes to showing up for parent/teacher conferences, or sending in donations for a teacher gift, or chipping in at the PTA-sponsored events, they’re nowhere to be found.
This is bad parenting—messy, sickening, wrong. Now, close your eyes and conjure up an image of the mothers and fathers who go all in on their kids like this—who exhibit the worst kind of parenting acumen. Who do you see?


Chicago Sun-Times columnist Mary Mitchell would have you believe that these are characteristics of “ghetto parenting,” a phrase she coined in a recent column about a trio of black brothers whose lives were turned upside down when, Mitchell writes, their drug-addicted mom’s bad parenting led to the tragic death of her 5-year-old son and last week’s murder conviction of her 23-year-old son. Mitchell’s claims the boys are victims of “ghetto parenting,” and, in her column, "Ghetto Parenting Dooms Kids," she goes on to explain exactly what that is:
Ghetto parenting is cursing around, and at, a child. 
Ghetto parenting is brawling with your man or your woman in front of your child.
Ghetto parenting is letting your child roam the streets until somebody else's mother has to tell the child to go home.
Ghetto parenting is putting your child off on friends and relatives because you want to hang out in the street.
Ghetto parenting is getting so hooked on substances that the Illinois Department of Children and Family Services has to remove your children and place them with strangers.
Now, where I come from, “ghetto parenting” would be considered code for poor, urban black and Latino moms and dads who are real good at making kids but who suck at raising them, leading to a never-ending cycle of poverty, abuse, crime and broken lives. The word “ghetto” falls right in line with the clever and really subversive evil game people play with adjectives to describe black people in the harshest, most stereotypical ways.

So in the course of a 700-word column, Mitchell racialized bad parenting, essentially intimating that falling down on the job as a mom or dad is “ghetto”—i.e. negative and black.

The hell?

I assure you black moms and Dads—impoverished black folks in particular—don’t have a lock on bad parenting. Indeed, the incidents I described at the beginning of this post were all meted out in and around my predominately white neighborhood here in Georgia by white parents. The first time I saw a white mom draw her hand back at her baby, and drop the “F” bomb in front of her little ones—and mine!—in the middle of Wal-Mart, and let her kids wander in my yard to play without any knowledge of where her kids were, I got real clear on this one simple truth: A bad parent knows no color, no economic level, no background, no class. And sometimes, what we consider a hot ghetto mess is actually just a mess, and not indicative of anybody’s ghetto (where, by the way, for every bad parent who clogs up the system, there are 20 good ones doing right by and their best for their babies, despite the statistics, despite the odds).

In other words, Mitchell needs to go back to the drawing board on that “ghetto parenting” phrase. It ain’t working. And it’s insulting as all hell. It’s hard enough trying to escape the stereotypes and labels and boxes society hangs on black moms—I’ve written passionately about those stereotypes in my posts “Black Moms Are Different and That’s Okay” and “Can You Name One Positive Portrayal of Black Moms in Hollywood?”—without a fellow journalist—an African American one, to boot—hanging her hat on stereotypes of a whole group/class/color of black moms.

Bad parenting is simply bad parenting.

What’s being ghetto—and black—got to do with it?


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Monday, March 16, 2009

MyBrownBaby: Where No Question Is Considered A Dumb Question



I started MyBrownBaby on a whim last September—back when the presidential election was in full gear and the Bristol Palin teen pregnancy fiasco was setting the news cycles on fire. My first post questioned how lil’ Miss Bristol’s pregnancy would have been viewed if she were, oh, say, a black teenager—a conversation that was being had by black moms everywhere, but was virtually ignored in every news story/analysis from here to Wasilla.

It was an observation that combined the two things I love writing about most—black folks and parenting—and I thought it a fitting debut post for MyBrownBaby, which I created to be a space where black moms could lend their critical voice, a voice that all-too-often is missing from the parenting debate. My intent was to make MyBrownBaby irreverent. Funny. Full of posts that make you think. Maybe even say, “Amen,” because it reminds you of what’s going on behind your closed door, with your family.

A place where African American moms—and their opinions—matter, and are heard, respected, and revered. For their poignancy and strength. For their intelligence and authenticity. Because they deserve it.

While I intended for black moms to call MyBrownBaby home, I certainly hoped that ALL moms would feel comfortable sitting on the MyBrownBaby stoop and commiseratating/learning/teaching about their views on motherhood, too. It never occurred to me, though, how difficult such a union would be—how it would feel, some days, more like a shotgun wedding than a uniting of minds and the sharing of opinions.

Nothing was truer this past weekend, when a post I wrote about a Today Show segment on Nadya Suleman, and a subsequent question I posed about the difference between how black moms and white moms viewed it, had a few folks coming thisclose to calling me a racist. It seemed that just posing a simple question—one that sought understanding, sans judgment—was enough to make people either cower in fear or lash out. Accuse and point fingers or fall dead silent.

A post I wrote a few months back, about a steamy conversation I had with a few white mom bloggers I met and became friends with on a Disney Wonder cruise, lays out pretty clearly how I feel about the need for us to get comfortable with asking and accepting questions without judgment. But the craziness of yesterday made me dig back deeper, to an email conversation I had with a dear blog friend of mine I met on the Mom Bloggers Club, back when both of us were fresh and new on the blogging scene. She came to me in confidence, so I’m not going to name names, but she reached out to me to tell me that while she loved my blog and reads it daily, she felt uncomfortable commenting on it:

Her: Your blog is one of the most professional-looking blogs I have ever seen and it's easy to see what a blessing you are to those who visit your site. 

I usually don't leave comments on your blog though because my fear is that I would be intruding. I am hoping and praying that that doesn't sound offensive in any way, because I truly do love your blog. It's one of my "must-read" blogs that I go to every day. At the same time, I don't want to intrude on what the purpose of your blog is (since I am obviously a very white country gal) and offend any of your readers either by posting my thoughts on issues that might not even pertain to me…. I really have enjoyed getting to know you and reading the thoughts of someone who has a different view on some topics than I might have and yet very similar views on other topics… your blog opens up a world of issues to me that I wouldn't typically encounter on a daily basis here in "Nowheresville."

Me: It has been such a pleasure getting to know you, too, and I appreciate your honesty and candor. I hear where you're coming from and understand your hesitancy in commenting, but I need you to know that your comments/thoughts/opinions are WELCOMED with open arms, a lot of love, and the deep belief that though we may come from separate places and have different backgrounds, we are ALL moms who want the same things for our families, and especially for our children. Sure, there are going to be times when you won't necessarily agree with the MBB posts/writers or identify with where we're coming from, but there will certainly be many more times than not that you'll be able see something in the posts that you can relate to your own life. What I'm most happy about is that you're coming to MBB to learn something you didn't know--to see perspectives that are fresh and different and interesting and eye-opening. That tells me a lot about you—most important that you're my kind of friend.

These days, she comments sans embarrassment or fear, much as I do on her blog. And we learn from one another every day—about family and motherhood, love and relationships, and especially what it feels like to walk in each other’s shoes. Judgment is checked at the door. And the only entrance fee is an open mind.

What a beautiful world this would be if we all could be more honest, open and ready to receive. I know I’ve got work to do. But I’m willing to work.

Are you?


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Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Black Moms in Hollywood: Can You Name One Positive Portrayal?



Be clear: I really do adore Mo’Nique—her humor, her hustle, her demand that we love ourselves exactly the way we are, no matter who stands at the ready to tear us down. And I especially loved her in Precious. Despite that I wrote HERE about my hesitancy to see the movie, I did end up seeing Precious and thought Mo'Nique was scary brilliant as an abusive, mentally-ill, poverty-stricken mom. Transformative. And she deserved that Oscar.

I feel the same way about Sandra Bullock, whom I absolutely adore for being down-to-earth and uber cute. I didn’t see The Blind Side (partly because I’ve grown quite tired of the “white savior” movies that keep creeping onto the movie screen), but I was happy for Bullock’s win nonetheless, if only because I’m a fan of her past work.

But, well, you know there’s a “but” coming. How many more times will Hollywood expect me to plunk down $10 per ticket (plus doggone near another $20 for a bag of popcorn and one of those slushie Coca Cola drinks) to see movies that portray black moms as pathological, drug-addicted, abusive, broke-down, dumb ass, you-ain’t-sh#t-and-ain’t-evah-gone-be-sh#t, baby mamas?

Like seriously:

Monster’s Ball featured a poverty-stricken, verbally-abusive mom who was so dumb that she didn’t realize the son of a raving racist, who was doing things to make her “feel good,” actually killed her child’s father.

The Blind Side was about a white southern mom who takes in a black teenage football player who’s never even had his own bed because, well, his mother is a poverty-stricken crack head who can’t keep hold of her kids.

Precious: Where do I even begin to describe the depraved, inhuman, patently foul infection that was Mary in this movie?

Daddy’s Little Girls features an abusive, foul-mouthed mother who gives up her daughters to take up residence as the queenpin in her boyfriend’s drug organization, and then lets her new man beat up on her youngest daughter and make a drug dealer out of her oldest child.

See the running theme here? I mean I really had to stop and think hard to come up with a movie featuring a black mom who loves her children AND is raising them up right AND isn’t sucking on the pipe/collecting a welfare check/cussing out the babies/depending on others to step in and save her children, and I was hard-pressed to name one. Like, I seriously couldn’t come up with one.

Help me out, MyBrownBaby family: Am I wrong to be annoyed by the portrayal of black moms in mainstream Hollywood? Should I expect more, or is this it for us? I mean, I respect Precious supporters' arguments that we have to examine the good, the bad, and the ugly that happens in our community, but er, um, where is the good? I mean, can you name ONE movie with a black mom with some sense? (No, Denzel Washington/Will Smith/Morgan Freeman/Laurence Fishburne arm candy does NOT count as a positive portrayal of black moms; I want to know which films actually give an indepth, solid delving into the life of a black woman that does NOT portray her as a foul, drug-addled, somebody-please-save-the-babies-from-that-crazy-ass-monster mom).

Two snaps up and a twist to anyone who can name one…



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Monday, March 22, 2010

EVERYBODY Should Read Black Children's Books



Yup, I admit it: For years, I've been on a secret mission to integrate the bookshelves and toy chests of a bunch of my daughters' white friends. Every time Mari and Lila were invited to a birthday party, I'd send them with fancy gift bags full of copies of Debbie Allen's "Dancing in the Wings," bell hooks' "Home Made Love," and Faith Ringgold's "Tar Beach," plus a chocolate Barbie for good measure.

Subversive? Yes.

Necessary? Very.

See, the majority of the parents of my daughters' friends, no matter how kind and smart and sweet they are, didn't buy black books, dolls, or movies for their children. I don't think they were being racist or striking out against diversity, by any stretch; it just never seemed to really occur to them that maybe, just maybe, their daughters would identify with the pretty, round-faced girl pie in "Home Made Love," or Sassy, the talented but shy ballerina in "Dancing in the Wings" -- or that there would be value in letting their daughters read their sweet, insightful, beautifully human stories.

Indeed, one of my mom friends, the mother of three boys, recently confessed to me that she'd gotten into a nasty argument with her mother and sister when she gave her niece a black doll for her birthday. The store, see, had run out of the white version of the doll, which her niece really wanted, and so my friend just went on ahead and bought the brown version. Well what did she do that for? "My mom and sister were livid," she said. Two weeks later, they were still speaking to her only when spoken to.

To my friend's credit, she couldn't understand what the big deal was. And the fact of the matter is, it shouldn't be. It's not like the black doll is going to jump out of the toy chest and go "boogedy, boogedy boo" at the first kid who finds it, or that a black children's book is going to be chock full of stereotypical Ebonics and rated "R" storylines ready to turn out the innocent ears of the babies. But this, it seems, is how all-too-many white parents treat them.

I speak from experience, you know. I'm the co-author of a three-book teen series called "Hotlanta," and I've stood by and watched white teenage girls excitedly read the back jacket, only to have their moms literally wrestle the book out of their hands and lead them to white books. A fellow author, Derrick Barnes, recently told me that books four and five in his brilliant children's book series, "Ruby and the Booker Boys," will likely never make it to bookshelves if sales for the first three in the series don't pick up -- a problem that could be remedied easily if black moms weren't the only ones shelling out $5 a pop for Derrick's books. Hell, the black Barbie dolls that were priced to move in Louisiana last week -- they were being sold for nearly half the price of the white dolls -- are there not just because black moms aren't buying them, but because white moms pass them up for the white ones.



I get it: I want my daughters to play with dolls that look like them, too, for all the obvious reasons. But when my friends gifted "Good Night Moon" and "Eloise" and countless "Junie B. Jones" books to my babies, I didn't have a conniption. When they served up blonde Barbies to my girls, I didn't take them out back and burn them in effigy. I simply added them to the collection. My girls have a literal rainbow coalition of doll babies—chocolate brown ones, Asians, Latinas, white with blonde hair, red-haired, olive-skinned ones. We bought some of them. Some of them were gifts. Neither their bookshelves nor their toy chests discriminate: Indeed, my girls' toys reflect the truly diverse world they live in, where the kids who fill their school rooms and playgroups speak different languages and come from different countries and backgrounds and income levels and aren't necessarily a bunch of frilly little tea-toting girls.

My hope is when I pass along a black children's book or a black doll baby to my daughters' friends, that they get the same subliminal lessons -- that brown children matter. Books like "Ruby and the Booker Boys" speak to our experiences and show both our differences and our commonalities with white culture. Introducing books like these to white children is the most simple, basic way to introduce a child to another race in a positive, thoughtful way. A white child introduced to Ruby may not necessarily say, "Oh look! A black girl is the star of this book!" when she reads it. She might not notice the character's color at all. But she just might decide to make friends with a little black girl out on the playground because she looks like the character in the book she liked. And since she really liked that book, she'll probably really like that little girl, too.

Children really are that simple. That uncomplicated.

My prayer is that we moms get a little of that act right in us, too.



In the meantime, if you want to make a difference, pick up one—or all—of these beautiful books for your child (click on the titles to purchase them online):

The Ruby and the Booker Boys series, by Derrick Barnes
Tar Beach, by Faith Ringold
Homemade Love, by bell hooks
We Had a Picnic This Sunday Past, by Jacqueline Woodson
The Gospel Cinderella, by Joyce Carol Thomas
Olu's Dream, by Shane Evans
Precious and the Boo Hag, by Patricia McKissack
Whistle for Willie, by Ezra Jack Keats
A Chair For My Mother, by Vera B. Williams
The Willimena Rules! series, by Valerie Wilson Wesley


NOTE: This piece originally was written for my column at Parenting.com's The Parenting Post. To see the rest of my columns there and to enjoy great mom-to-mom advice on raising children, CLICK HERE.

(And um, since there are a few moms over there acting like my request that they let their children read black children's books is tantamount to me asking them to grill their children and eat them for Sunday dinner, maybe you could go on over there and add to the conversation in the comments section. I'd greatly appreciate that.)

(Even more importantly: I'm asking each of you to show Scholastic that we love Derrick Barnes' Ruby and the Booker Boys series and want it to continue by BUYING THE BOOKS. You can get the first four in the series for $20—very reasonable considering the gift you'll be getting in this beautiful series. Buy the books as a gift for a lucky little girl in your life or your local library or a local community center or a church playroom or your doctor's office. Every book sold is a vote in favor of authors like Derrick and me, who spend every waking moment of our working lives dedicated to telling beautiful stories for and about our children—all children. Please: Support Ruby!)



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Monday, November 16, 2009

Black Moms ARE Different—and That's OK.



So, after yet another white mom stomped onto MyBrownBaby accusing me of "segregating" myself for writing about issues affecting black moms, my homegirl Akilah over at the fabulous Execumama told me that I should "never freakin' explain again" why I do what I do. She's right, you know; if people bothered to look around and read the actual content on MyBrownBaby, they wouldn't get hung up on the name. But I felt like I needed to break it down so it'll forever be broke just one mo' gin, and this week, I did it in a much more public forum—on The Parenting.com site. Here's an excerpt:

'You’re so vain, you probably think this [post] is about you.'

But it’s not.

It’s about me.

And a bunch of other African-American moms who are tired of being ignored. Stereotyped. Put in a box. Left to wonder what, exactly, they’re to do with the unique circumstances that come into play when they’re raising black children in a society that all but ignores them, until something horrible happens.

What’s got me all in a tizzy?

Yet another white mom stomped onto my site last week, questioning why I write for and about moms of color. Apparently, the word “brown” in my blog title made her feel some kinda ways about my posts, subject matter, and intent, and she questioned why, if “everyone wants to be celebrated and recognized as ‘equal,’” I would “segregate” myself with a blog about skin color.

Um, you really want to make my nostrils flare? Tell me that you “don’t see color.” Or that we’re all the same—no matter the color, race, income level, background, origin, beliefs. Or that by simply acknowledging and speaking to issues that affect black moms specifically, I’m “segregating” myself.


To read the rest of this essay and the wonderful dialogue it's stirred up, head on over to The Parenting Post by clicking HERE. If you're so moved, leave a comment.

Joy!




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Wednesday, March 10, 2010

MyBrownBaby Is Rocking the Red Pump AND Encouraging Sexual Empowerment



So I blew a gasket when I read THIS STORY in the New York Times last week, about how the largely white staff of an anti-abortion group is running all through predominantly African American churches and colleges around Georgia, telling black folks that abortion is nothing more than a “womb lynching” designed to “kill off blacks.” Buoyed by stats that show black women get about 40 percent of the abortions performed in the U.S., despite being only 13 percent of the population, the group is tapping African Americans to boost the anti-abortion cause—one that has long been identified as a predominantly white Republican tenet. For good measure, the group insists that Planned Parenthood is the mastermind behind a conspiracy to abort Black babies.

Of course, I love me some black babies, and obviously, the last thing I want is to have them killed off. Indeed, full disclosure: I’m pro-life—for me. But I think women should have the right to make the very personal CHOICE to become mothers without the government legislating our wombs.

So what’s got my goat about this group’s efforts to recruit blacks to their anti-abortion cause? Well, the same group of conservative Republicans that are running around telling black teens and young black women to have their babies are usually the first ones to snatch away the support system young mothers need to take care of their children. They say no to everything—food stamps, welfare, raises in the minimum wage, paid maternity leave, childcare subsidies, and any other program that would help lift black children out of poverty, and then demonize black moms for being poor and raising their kids in poverty. What right does any one person have to demand a woman have a baby if that woman knows good and doggone well she can’t take care of that child?

Here’s an idea: Instead of spreading the ridiculous claim that abortion is tantamount to black genocide, maybe those same “black baby saviors” could focus their energies on helping black teens and women protect themselves from getting pregnant in the first doggone place. Let the statistics tell it, and black girls and women are slowly killing off themselves by not doing what it takes to protect themselves during sex. For sure, the numbers of unplanned pregnancies is on the rise among black teens and HIV and AIDS stats show that black women are under siege. Though black and Latina women represented only 24 percent of all U.S. women combined in 2005, they accounted for a whopping 82 percent of the estimated total AIDS diagnoses for women in 2005. And the Centers for Disease Control reveals even more disturbing news:

• HIV is the leading cause of death for Black women (including African American women) aged 25–34 years.

• The rate of AIDS diagnosis for Black women was approximately 23 times the rate for white women and four times the rate for Latina women

• In 2006, teen girls represented 39% of AIDS cases reported among 13–19 year-olds. Black teens represented 69% of cases reported among 13–19 year-olds; Latino teens represented 19%.

Clearly, the reason black women are having so many unwanted pregnancies and contracting and dying from HIV and AIDS is because they’re NOT PROTECTING THEMSELVES. Loretta Ross, the executive director of the SisterSong Women of Color Reproductive Health Collective in Atlanta breaks it down best in the New York Times story when she says a lack of access to birth control, lack of education, and even a high rate of sexual violence in black communities creates “a perfect storm” for high pregnancy rates. I would gather the same thing can be said for those high STD rates.

What, then, do we do? Well for starters, we stop it with all the silly “womb lynching” talk and get serious about empowering black teens and young black women with the information they need to protect themselves. This is why I’m Rocking the Red Pump today here on MyBrownBaby—in support of National Women and Girls HIV/AIDS Awareness Day (NWGHAAD). Click HERE to see what you can do to HELP women get tested, protect themselves, and, most importantly, empower themselves to make choices about their sexuality that positively impact their lives. This isn't about politics. It's about saving lives.

Rock the Red, y’all—and teach our babies (and their mothers!) how to protect themselves.




MyBrownBaby is Rocking the Red Pump as part of National Women/Girls HIV/AIDS Awareness Day, with the hope that this post, and dozens more spearheaded by Awesomelyluvvie and The Fabulous Giver of The Red Pump Project, encourages women to protect themselves. A great way to do this is to know your status; click HERE to find a low-cost, pain-free testing site near you. You can find out more information, too, by visiting this special page on the United States Health and Human Services website, or checking out local programs today in your area.



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Thursday, July 8, 2010

Hennessy In My Starbucks Cup




Isn’t this just the most delicious book title? I can’t claim it; it belongs to my friend and fellow author Kimberly Seals Allers, who wrote THIS thoughtful, humorous post on Mom Logic about all of the white mom Parenting While Drunk (PWD) books flooding the market. In the piece, titled, "I'm Fed Up With Drunken White Moms," Kimberly lists no less than 10—count ‘em, 10!—books with titles extolling the virtues of raising children with cocktails in hand, and laments that black moms would NEVER, EVER, NEVER EVER EVER get to joke, much less write about,  PWD in our own parenting books and blogs, lest we’re comfortable being labeled unfit moms. Here’s her take on the double standard:

The reason it works for white women is, it's assumed that a white woman is educated, capable of drinking all the time and still parenting and is really only joking... 
If a black mother joked that she drank all the time while parenting, somebody would call Child Protective Services in a heartbeat. White women are safe. There is no stigma attached to their drinking—in fact, there is even a trendiness, and some lifestyle cachet. My drinking would scream "unfit mother" in glaring lights.
Because black women are barely viewed as smart, savvy moms in the first place, the thought of us touting and even celebrating drinking-on-the-job would be preposterous. And we certainly couldn't build a marketable and profitable branding platform on the idea. Nobody, not even I (and you guys think I'm pretty bold), would go there. I'm not foolish enough to assume I have that luxury.
(READ THE ENTIRE POST HERE). 
I’m with Kimberly on this one. Indeed, the whole reason I started MyBrownBaby was because of the parenting double standard of which she writes; there is a dearth of parenting information for us moms of color (and moms of children of color) when it comes to rearing our kids, and what little there is out there is often so negative and beyond our reality that it’s not worth paying it any attention. Wouldn’t it be lovely to read a book about Parenting While Black that doesn’t have anything to do with poverty, drugs, poor education, absentee fathers and the like, but speaks specifically to the joys, challenges and wonders of raising our kids (even if some Hennessy is involved) from a moms of color perspective? I’ve got one up my sleeve. Would you read it?

Kudos to Kimberly for pointing out the inequity and making it plain. Of course, the non-moms of color are all in a tizzy over her piece and leaving some pretty nasty comments (as usual, whenever the hated call out the hateful/blissfully ignorant on their mess, people can’t help but act the fool in the comments section). CLICK HERE to read her piece and leave a comment of encouragement for her!  

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Monday, December 7, 2009

Celebrating Colorful Voices with the Moms of Hue



I'm an African American mom with brown babies, and I take great pleasure in writing about the issues that moms of color and mothers of children of color face as we raise our kids. And while I happily co-sign the idea that at the base of it, all of us moms want the same things for our children—for them to be happy, healthy, smart, kind, honest, trustworthy, successful human beings—we simply do not all parent the same, and there absolutely ARE issues that we deal with as an African American moms that white moms would never have to think about if they’re not raising a brown child.

While I intended for black moms to call MyBrownBaby home, I certainly hoped that ALL moms would feel comfortable sitting on the MyBrownBaby stoop and commiseratating/learning/teaching about their views on motherhood, too. And I've found an amazing circle of moms online who totally get it—who write passionately about their parenting experiences in a way with which I can identify with, learn from, and, above all else, appreciate.

And now, some of my favorite bloggers—Talibah of WeParent and The Mama Spot (and the winner of the first MyBrownBaby Beautiful Minds Contest!), Tameka of Tea & Honey Bread, Michelle of The Integrated Mother, and Moms of Hue co-founders Renee of Cutie Booty Cakes and Kristina of Mom on the Rise, among others—have combined their talent and resources to found the fabulous new site, Moms of Hue, a place where parents can read all about the unique experience of women of color raising children—from the Latina, African American, Indian, single, married, and bi-racial perspectives, and much more.

Today, Moms of Hue is holding its official launch party, and the site is celebrating in style, with over 30 prizes they'll be giving away all day long! Follow the conversation on twitter by searching for the #momsofhue hashtag and be sure to follow @momsofhue so that you don't miss a chance to enter the giveaways.

And of course, be sure to stop by Moms of Hue to check out the stories, voices, and perspectives of Moms of Hue.


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Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Make MyBrownBaby THE BEST BLOG FOR BLACK MOMS

MyBrownBaby was selected as a finalist in the 2010 Black Weblog Awards for BEST PARENTING AND FAMILY BLOG!

*insert image of Denene doing the wop here*

With more than 32,000 nominations made and 10,000 ballots cast, MyBrownBaby is proud to be recognized as one of the best blogs about parenting and families on the web. I work hard to advocate for and celebrate black moms and moms of beautiful brown babies in every single post that makes its way onto this site, and I’m so pleased that you, my readers, cast your votes in support of the work I do here. For you. For us.

Now, you all know how much I like those “Black Weblog Awards Winner” buttons. They’re fancy. And so am I. And I want one. So I neeeeeed you, my dear sweet MyBrownBaby readers, to vote for MBB one mo’ gin. You have the entire month of August to vote to make MyBrownBaby a winner, but you might as well go on ahead and do it now, my sweets—while it’s on your mind. Please, please, PLEASE go through the entire six pages of the voting, include your email addy (they do not use it to spam you, promise!) and VERIFY YOUR VOTE, or else it will not count. And I'll lose. And you won't be able to see the YouTube video of me wopping it out to one of my favorite late '80s songs.

Oh yeah, you read that right: I will post on my YouTube page a video of me wopping. Want to see it? CAST YOUR VOTE FOR MYBROWNBABY HERE.

Winners will be announced sometime around September 1.

I invite you, too, to check out—and vote for—a few of my other blog favorites, including:


Thanks for your help! 

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Friday, October 22, 2010

Score Two In The Black Girl Battle Against Lazy Beauty Standards!


Sesame Street's "I Love My Hair" Puppet

Now, no one is suggesting that we African American moms exclusively count on TV, songs, movies and the like to make our babies feel good about themselves. But it would be extremely naïve at best, disingenuous at worst, to suggest that the psyches of our girls aren’t affected by a constant barrage of media images that seek to set the standard for what’s right, what’s wrong and what we all need to fix to get to this stock version of “perfect. It would be even dumber of us to suggest that non-black children aren't affected by this, either—that they don't come to some not-so-flattering conclusions about their African American counterparts when they have few to no references to refer to when forming those opinions.
So we black moms cloak our babies in the armor—ready them everyday for the battle against lazy beauty standards, pop culture ignorance, and outright black girl put-downs that seem to slap at them—and us!—around every stretch. In my daughters’ cases, I ended up making a border of picture frames filled with pictures of her family on the wall next to their cribs, so that they could see brown faces that look like theirs. I filled their bookshelves with as many books featuring black characters as I could find and requested that my friends do the same. They went to sleep listening to Stevie Wonder and Earth Wind & Fire and Satchmo and Kathleen Battle—artists with soulful voices and incredible, eclectic music filled with prideful messages that both our kids and we love to listen to. And Nick and I would whisper in their ears…you are the loveliest, prettiest, most deliciously chocolatey gifts from God any mommy and daddy could ask for.
But Lord, when we spend our days telling our daughters that their skin is beautiful and their hair is perfect exactly the way it grows out of their heads and their lips and nose and hips and booty are full of goodness and that they are, indeed, visible—that we see them, even if nobody else does—it does something to our girls’ psyche when someone other than their mamas says, “Hey, you’re pretty awesome just the way you are.”
Nobody tells little black girls such things.
But this week, two somebodies did...



To read this essay in its entirety, pop on over to the MyBrownBaby page on Parenting's The Parenting Post—and if you're so moved, please leave a comment. We need to show everyone—magazines, radio stations, ad agencies, companies who depend on our cash to stay alive—that black moms and our children MATTER, and I can't think of a better way to do that than by lifting our voices. 


Have a fantastic weekend everyone!



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Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Make MyBrownBaby THE BEST BLOG FOR BLACK MOMS

Ohmigod—MyBrownBaby readers are the BESTEST! I mean, like, I heart you. I really, really heart you. Like the cast of Jersey Shore loves dranks. Like Terrell Owens and Chad Ocho Cinco love them some white women.  Like Kanye West loves himself.

That’s Mary J. Blige REAL LOVE y’all.

And why, my darlings, am I professing my profound affection for each and every one of MyBrownBaby’s readers? Well, because MyBrownBaby was selected as a finalist in the 2010 Black Weblog Awards for BEST PARENTING AND FAMILY BLOG!

*insert image of Denene doing the wop here*

With more than 32,000 nominations made and 10,000 ballots cast, MyBrownBaby is proud to be recognized as one of the best blogs about parenting and families on the web. I work hard to advocate for and celebrate black moms and moms of beautiful brown babies in every single post that makes its way onto this site, and I’m so pleased that you, my readers, cast your votes in support of the work I do here. For you. For us.

Now, you all know how much I like those “Black Weblog Awards Winner” buttons. They’re fancy. And so am I. And I want one. So I neeeeeed you, my dear sweet MyBrownBaby readers, to vote for MBB one mo’ gin. You have the entire month of August to vote to make MyBrownBaby a winner, but you might as well go on ahead and do it now, my sweets—while it’s on your mind. Please, please, PLEASE go through the entire six pages of the voting, include your email addy (they do not use it to spam you, promise!) and VERIFY YOUR VOTE, or else it will not count. And I'll lose. And you won't be able to see the YouTube video of me wopping it out to one of my favorite late '80s songs.

Oh yeah, you read that right: I will post on my YouTube page a video of me wopping. Want to see it? CAST YOUR VOTE FOR MYBROWNBABY HERE.

Winners will be announced sometime around September 1.

I invite you, too, to check out—and vote for—a few of my other blog favorites, including:

Black Girl With Long Hair

Thanks for your help! 


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Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Hate It Or Love It, This Brown Girl Won't Be Conforming To Your Definition of "Black."




By CAROLYN EDGAR


When my 11-year-old daughter said she wanted to go dressed as an Oreo cookie for Halloween last year, I laughed.

“Cami. Really. Think about it.”

“What?” she asked.

An “Oreo” costume worn as social commentary would have been clever. But my daughter’s thinking was much more literal. She loves Oreos. She loves the Oreo commercial that pits Serena and Venus Williams against Eli and Peyton Manning. Why not be her favorite cookie for Halloween?

But at 11, she’s also savvy enough to know the other, derogatory meaning of that term. Understanding washed over her face while I fought to turn my guffaw to a chuckle.

“Ohhhhh.” She ended up wearing a ‘60s mod girl costume instead.

Cami has been called an Oreo often enough in her 11 years. She can't dance. She has no rhythm. GPS navigation couldn't help her find the beat. She couldn’t “code switch” to speak the street language of our Harlem neighborhood if her life depended on it. She’s tired of being told she “talks white,” but I’ve drilled it into her that no one race has a monopoly on proper grammar and diction. She has two or three black friends, but most of her friends are white.

As Cami figures out who she is, I try to stay out of the way. At four, she hated her curly hair and brown skin. Her white preschool classmates never let her play princess with them “because princesses don’t look like you.” Now, she loves her hair and skin. She is proud to be a black girl. She just refuses to let anyone else define for her what being “black” actually means. As she said recently, “I don’t have to like Lil’ Wayne to prove that I’m black!”

Cami has no patience for notions of what black people “do” and “don’t do.” She also does not require the presence of other black people to feel comfortable in a new environment. This past summer, she had her first sleep-away camp experience at a camp just outside Poughkeepsie, N.Y. Before deciding to send her there, I met with the camp director and asked a ton of questions about the camp, but none about the race or ethnicity of its campers.

When the director asked “Do you have any more questions?” for the third time, I realized he was expecting me to ask about the camp’s diversity. I asked the question, knowing the answer would have little bearing on my decision. Cami would be fine whether or not there were other black children at the camp. And things went pretty much as I expected. Cami had a great time at camp and made lots of new friends. The camp did have a handful of black children, but none of Cami’s new friends was black.

As Cami nears her 12th birthday, she tells me the black and Latino kids in her new school criticize her for hanging out with the white kids. She believes people should be judged for who they are, not for what they look like. She argues passionately, to me and to the kids at school, that “it shouldn’t matter” what race her friends are. I agree.

Still, I know from my own experiences that being involved in black social networks also will be important for her social development. By living in Harlem and attending a racially and economically diverse public school, Cami will gain a broad understanding of—or at least exposure to—class, and national and cultural identity issues among black Americans. But I’m a little concerned about what she may be missing by not being a bit more steeped in black culture, and how that might affect her socially.

As much as I hope and believe that we are in a time of true change, I also know that all of the things that divide black people simply will not fade away. I want Cami to continue to decide for herself who she is and who she wants to become. I want her to choose her friends based on common interests rather than common appearance. But I don’t want her to be shunned by other black kids because of those choices. I have considered joining various organizations to expose her to other black children who share her interests, but I wonder if it’s really necessary. I love her independence and her idealism, and a big part of me wants to just leave her alone.

And then there’s my 7-year-old son. I assumed he was still too young for race to be an issue—until the day he asked me how Michael Jackson got his skin to turn white, and could he do that to himself when he grows up.

I gave him a be-proud-to-be-African-American lecture on the spot, and added, "You can't do ANYTHING to look like Michael Jackson, you hear me!" Self-determination has its limits.

About our MyBrownBaby contributor:
Carolyn Edgar is a corporate attorney based in New York City. A mom of two, she writes frequently for the New York City Moms Blog


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Friday, June 5, 2009

Let's Talk About the Joys and Struggles of Black Parenting!



You all know by now how passionate I am about having black parents participate in the national conversation on parenting; I simply don't think that those who drive the public debates about the way Americans parent today ever consider the perspective of moms and dads of color, unless they're looking for a quote or two about black pathology. Thank goodness there are a few of us—in fact, a whole bunch of us!—taking matters into our own hands and doing what we can to speak up and out about what it's like and what it means to raise black children in 2009 and beyond.

To that end, the hosts of two fantastic black parenting sites, Lashanda Henry of BlackMomsClub and Lamar Tyler of BlackandMarriedWithKids are hosting a three-day web conference June 12 to June 14, 2009, for parents looking to discuss black family issues. This is a FREE, live, online tele-summit of some of the best of the best black parenting experts, and all are welcome to attend. MyBrownBaby will be one of the featured speakers on the June 14th panel.

Here, a breakdown of the discussions and info on how you can attend (again, it's FREE, and we would LOVE your support and input in these meaningful, much-needed conversations):















When: June 12, 2009 at 8 p.m.

Topic: The role of African American fathers today

Guest Speaker: Janks Morton, Creator of What Black Men Think

Click HERE to register for this free event. Space is limited.
















When: June 13 at 8 p.m. EST

Topic: The real issues that are overshadowed by stereotypes about black women

Guest Speakers:
Dee Dee Jackson, president, Mocha Moms, Inc.
Kimberly Seals Allers of MochaManual.com
Tara Pringle Jefferson of the Young Mommy Life

Click HERE to register for this free event. Space is limited.

















When: June 14 at 8 p.m. EST

Topic: The Role of black parents as our children transition from childhood to adulthood: What goes wrong and what are we doing right?

Guest Speakers:
Denene Millner of MyBrownBaby
Latrice Fowler of Raising Chefs

Click HERE to register for this free event. Space is limited.



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Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Stick To It: Lessons On How To Keep Breastfeeding, Despite The Odds



By ELITA KALMA

When my son was born, I was told he needed formula because he had low blood sugar and jaundice, and for five hours, he was stuffed with the artificial milk, despite my pleas that he be brought to me so that I could nurse him. I was the one with the good stuff—colostrum, that early sugar milk brimming with antibodies. But I was scared for the welfare of my son, and too exhausted to fight the power. And by the time my baby finally was brought to me, my nurse, a sistah, was, let’s say, less than encouraging. She took one look at my breasts and declared, “You have terrible nipples—you’ll never be able to nurse!” Then she roughly shoved my boob into my baby’s mouth.

That was the beginning of my breastfeeding journey.

On my way out the hospital door, a nurse practically forced a diaper bag full of formula on me, insisting that my son would need it if he got hungry—as if my always available, always sterile, always-full-of-just-enough milk breasts just wouldn’t do. My discharge papers revealed that my son had been supplemented with formula every time he left my sight!

Lucky for us, this early introduction of artificial nipples and formula didn’t ruin our breastfeeding relationship; my son has been breastfeeding for 16 months now, with no signs of letting up. But there are plenty of moms and babies who aren’t as fortunate. Although our breastfeeding initiation rate is currently at an all-time high (about 60% of black moms are nursing when they leave the hospital), only a paltry 30% are still nursing at six months and only about 12% at one year. Our society has set moms up for failure, often starting from day one. If the nurses aren’t shoving a bottle full of formula down your baby’s throat, we’re often forced to run a gauntlet of well-meaning friends and family who don't know much about nursing and offer bad—and often discouraging—advice.

And don’t get me started on nursing in public! It's as if people expect a breastfeeding mother to never leave the house! Women are so scared of other people's reactions that they hide in bathrooms or their cars or give the baby a bottle to avoid breastfeeding in a public place. You have the legal right to breastfeed your baby in public but sometimes you wouldn't know it! I have nursed my son everywhere: Target, restaurants, my in-laws’ home, the mall. I will whip out a boob to feed my child whenever and wherever necessary. Some people won’t like it and you may get looks or worse. I was asked to cover up in a hotel lobby by a teacher chaperoning a high school field trip. I pretty much had to tell her where to go and how to get there!



I say all of this not to discourage you from nursing, but to encourage you to work through the obstacles because it is so worth it. Breast milk is a living, changing organism designed expressly for your baby. The bond you create with your child when you nurse him is unmatched. There are a million reasons to breastfeed, and for black babies especially, breast milk saves lives. Did you know that 8,000 black babies die before their first birthday in this country—triple the rate of white babies. Did you know that diseases and ailments that plague the black community, like breast cancer, ovarian cancer, diabetes, and obesity, are prevented or lessened if you breastfeed and were breastfed?

I know that it is more difficult for black women to breastfeed. Often we don’t have the jobs with the flexibility needed to continue breastfeeding. Our partners aren’t supportive. Our families think of breastfeeding as something weird that only white women do. Our bodies have been so hypersexualized in music and the media that we think our breasts can only serve one purpose. It's a disgrace that if you want to breastfeed it takes a mix of good luck and tenacity. If we, as a nation, a world, a community, want women to breastfeed, want our babies to be healthier, then we have to truly start supporting them. That means fewer unnecessary medical interventions during childbirth, longer and paid parental leave, on-site daycare, laws requiring employers to give women breaks for pumping/nursing, and normalization and acceptance of breastfeeding in public.
Then, and only then, will we see women doing what the American Academy of Pediatrics and World Health Organization recommend: exclusive breastfeeding for the first six months, and nursing until age 1 and beyond.

So if you are pregnant, take the time to learn as much as you can about breastfeeding. Read Kathi Barber’s The Black Woman’s Guide to Breastfeeding. Create a birth plan before you go to the hospital, spelling out your wishes for both labor AND breastfeeding. Talk to your friends who have nursed and ask for advice. Call the African-American Breastfeeding Alliance or your hospital’s lactation “warm line” at the first sign of difficulty. Bookmark http://www.KellyMom.com.

And of course, you can always contact me. I think I’ve become a bit of a pro! Breastfeeding is seriously one of the most amazing things I've ever done in my entire life. Snuggling my son close while he stares at me with those big brown eyes?

There is nothing better.

About our MyBrownBaby contributor: Elita Kalma is a librarian and the mother to 16-month-old Miles, who is still nursing. She blogs about breastfeeding at The Blacktating Blog and can be found on Twitter @blacktating.

If you would like to be a MyBrownBaby contributor, email your essays/ideas to Denene at denenemillner at gmail dot com.



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Thursday, August 12, 2010

We Need More Black Children's Books On Borders's Bookshelves NOW.


My neighborhood Borders was running a children’s book drive for a local hospital and since Denene loves the children and books, I offered to purchase two books for donation. Grateful I was participating, the cashier offered up a stack of books for me to choose from. And what do you know, not nan one of them—save for a lone "Princess and the Frog" book buried all the way in the back/bottom of the pile—featured children of color.

Not. One.

Now, you know how I do: I’m a huge proponent of children’s books featuring characters that look like my girlpies, and I’m especially gangsta about getting these books into the hands of ALL children, not just black kids (as chronicled in my post EVERYBODY Should Read Black Children’s Books). So I insisted that I be able to by-pass Borders's pre-selected (white-washed) offerings to select and donate a few of my favorite children’s books from the children’s section.

Problem was, they didn’t have any black children’s books. There was no "Ruby and the Booker Boys." No "Tar Beach." No "Wilhemina Rules." No "Pruella and the Boo Hag" or "Dancing in the Wings" or "Home Made Love." Not one book with a child of color—ANY color—up on those shelves, within arm’s reach for kids to grab and read and giggle at and enjoy. And with every second I had to dig, my anger became more palpable—much to the chagrin of the Borders employee charged with helping me pick books to donate.

Me: I’m not really clear why there aren’t any books for or about children of color here.
Borders Chick: Well, if no one buys them, we don’t order them.
Me: Well if they’re not here to buy, then it’s kinda hard for us to buy them, isn’t it?
Borders Chick: It’s headquarters that decides what books will be stocked, so my guess is they have more of a selection at Stonecrest Mall. (Note: This would be the “black” mall. About 40 minutes from where I and many other black moms who buy books for our children actually live.)
Me: *massive side-eye* I don’t live near Stonecrest. I live two minutes from this store.
Borders Chick: I found one! *triumphantly waving in my face a copy of Sharon Draper’s “Sassy,” which she dug from the back of a dark shelf near the floor. As if she'd just found the solution to world peace.* 
Me: *another massive side-eye and a lip twist* Y’all need to do better.

I was still ranting by the time I made it to the register with my book donation purchases—the lone copy of “Sassy,” and a copy of my latest book, “Miss You, Mina,” a tween book in the popular Scholastic Candy Apple series. (Amazingly, they had three copies in the Candy Apple section, but it took longer than it should have to convince another Borders Chick that I was the author and that it would be a good thing if I autographed my book.) While it is honorable that Borders was collecting books for kids, why didn’t it occur to them to include a mix of books that feature kids of all races—white, black, Latino, Asian, Indian or whatever?  And why should I have to drive 40 minutes to the “black” store to get black books for my kids? And good God, why was the Borders Chick STILL perpetuating the ridiculous notion that somehow, books featuring black children should only be purchased and read by black children?



“I mean, I’m buying 'Artemis Fowl'—arguably, a white book—for my daughter, who clearly is African American," I said, handing over my debit card to pay for the two black books and the third in the Artemis Fowl series, which Mari is completely flying through as I write this. "Why shouldn’t her kid read ‘Miss You, Mina?’” I demanded, jabbing my finger at the white woman waiting on line behind me, trying her best to pretend like she wasn’t listening to the conversation.

The cashier shrugged and mumbled something about corporate making those decisions and it all being out of her hands. Curiously, corporate didn’t seem to have a problem filling up the “African American Interests” section with a crap load of street fiction titles so risqué I had to steer Mari clear of it, lest her 11-year-old eyes got singed by shelf upon shelf of book covers featuring scantily-clad vixens and chocolate hot boys in compromising porn positions. Apparently, none of us should have to drive 40 minutes out of the way for the mess that makes us look like a bunch of sex-addicted, skank stripper hoes chasing random peen between drug deals and jail breaks. Nope: Those car rides, which use up a good $15 worth of gas, are reserved for $4.99 black children's books.

I’m. Tired. Of. This.

Exhausted, really.

Aren’t you?

And more importantly, what do we do about it? I’m open to suggestions…


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Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Nominate MyBrownBaby For A Black Weblog Award (Or Four)


 

The 2010 BLACK WEBLOG AWARDS NOMINATIONS are going on right now. Be a dear and head over there to nominate MYBROWNBABY for Best Personal Blog, Best Writing in a Blog, Best Parenting Blog, and Blog of the Year.

Why nominate MyBrownBaby? Well, because mama works hard to advocate for and celebrate black moms and moms of beautiful brown babies in every single post that makes its way onto this site.

From calling out the injustice of thoughtless teachers (like in this piece about the little girl kicked out of her gifted class for having smelly natural hair) and demanding justice for victims of police brutality in predominately black and Latino communities (like in this post about the police raid that resulted in the death of Aiyana Jones) to waxing poetic on Salma Hayek's breastfeeding tatas and the simple joy of embarrassing the hell out of my daughters in the grocery store aisle, I try to use my love of the written word to inspire,teach, commiserate, inform and profess my profound love for beautiful brown babies and the joy of parenting them. I hope I’m fulfilling the mission.

 

If you think I am, show your support by clicking on the Black Weblog Awards 2010 Nominee button and make MyBrownBaby the most nominated website in the Best Personal Blog, Best Writing in a Blog, Best Parenting and Family Blog and Blog of the Year categories. You’ve got until midnight July 25th to cast your vote (but you might as well go on and get it done now); each vote gets me thisclose to the August finals, which will have the most nominated blogs duking it out for the crown.

Please know: I ain’t too proud to beg. MyBrownBaby won two Black Weblog Awards last year; I’d like to get more of that art for my sidebar. Yup, I’m fancy like that.

Thanks in advance for your help!

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