"When you love a man, he becomes more than a body. His physical limbs expand, and his outline recedes, vanishes. He is rich and sweet and right. He is part of the world, the atmosphere, the blue sky and the blue water."  Gwendolyn Brooks

It took years for me to understand exactly what Gwendolyn Brooks must have been feeling when she explained what it’s like to love a man. I thought the sentiment was beautiful, but I hadn’t experienced this man, so I could not bring her words to real life; not my life.

Oh but now, now I feel her words and I know what she means all too well.

Coming up on the first anniversary of the day that I united with a man who I only knew before this day as a dream, I now understand love. I’d like to say that I knew this kind of love the day that I walked down that grassy isle to meet him in front of my brother to exchange our promise to love and last forever. But, that wouldn’t be the truth. What I knew that day was that he was for me. I knew I’d love him forever. I knew that my family was happy. I knew my son welcomed him. I knew my brothers were relieved in the idea of someone “taking care” of their baby sister. I knew that my sisters were happy that I was happy. My friends were in awe of how my life had changed. 

I knew it was good. I knew he was good. I knew that with him, I was good. But I didn’t know it could get better.

During the first year of our marriage, most of which I was an evil pregnant woman, I began to see love shine through his eyes like sparkles from the sun. I began to see the man the Creator had given me. Fantasy has shadowed my reality and now when I lie next to him in bed his arms are strong enough to separate me from the rest of world. When he holds me, I know that there is no force that could remove me from his grasp. I see clouds of completeness in his eyes each morning before I rise. His every touch sends chills down my spine while his voice echoes thunderous chants through my soul to my racing heart.  With each kiss, the world stands still; the oceans sing out and the wind relieves distress with each breeze. 

The man I married is real. He’s real. He is a man of strength and pride. He is a man who is loving and determined. He is the man that was created just for me. YES! I have no doubt in that fact. Hell may knock at our door or sneak in the window when we aren’t looking, but this man is steadfast. He looks at all that comes to shift our balance, right in the eyes and says with great determination, “YOU ARE NOT WELCOMED HERE! You will not intervene in our comfort; our happiness. Try as you will, you will fail against us. We are strong and we are survivors. We are family.” 

And he means it. This is his truth!

I have learned of his strength. I have settled with great pride in the idea of being his rock in the midst of storms. No matter what the world throws at my husband, I know he will succeed. When others doubt him, I don’t. I laugh at their ignorance. I dance on their inability to see the best in him. What is evident to me will one day be undeniable to them.

My soul mate, my partner, my best friend has become a permanent fixture in my world. He has turned gray skies blue; rain to sunshine. He has injected a new life into my tired and weary heart. I am thankful and I am a believer in great love! It’s special and it transcends beyond just good sex or good conversation or someone being there for you. Real, good love, is beyond expression and needs no introduction. It just is. Being in love with a good man is the most beautiful thing a woman can experience. 

It is my honor to have Brad Franklin as my husband, this year and every year to come. “If I am a reflection of him, then I must be fly because his light shines so bright…”

Happy Anniversary Hubs!

https://network.yardbarker.com/nfl/article_external/which_nfl_team_is_really_americas_team/3198840

There’s much controversy and conversation going on about “black hair” these days. As an afro-centric woman of pride who is also an avid weave wearer and hair-style-changer, I feel it’s time that I chime in some on the idea of “black hair” - what it means to go natural or not. I have simply had enough of the ridiculously simple notions that seem to create superior attitudes that plaque us. We have enough to divide us without hair being one of them.

Many of you know this, some may not, but my father, Howard Spencer, was what one would call today a culturally sound brother. One of his biggest accomplishment in life, was founding a private school called the Black and Proud School, which he ran for many years under another name to avoid governmental interruption. My father was known to most as Bro. Howard and deemed the strict father and crazy “black man” by neighborhood kids. He wouldn’t allow my mother to straighten our hair. So my sister and I, with little to say about it, wore our hair in braids way longer than the other girls we knew. We couldn’t wear fingernail polish or lip stick (although it was not suitable before 13 years of age for me to wear make up, but this was a problem for my sister who was four years older than me). We didn’t celebrate Christmas at all, only the African American holiday - Kwanzaa. Our lifestyles were completely different from most of the kids we knew. My mother made dashikis and other African clothing and that’s what we wore. My father didn’t spend his money on wants, only needs as he charged little to nothing to educate the children of Virden Addition and surrounding neighborhoods. So we couldn’t afford these items and even if we could, he wouldn’t spend his money making the “white man” richer when my mother was capable of providing the clothing we needed.

I adapted the pride that came along with being Black early.  I loved everything about being black, still do.

Most of my father’s friends wore afros. The women were naturally beautiful – no make up, nothing extra – just the beauty they were born with. They wore locks in their hair when locks were not especially popular. I didn’t begin to even see relaxed hair until my father moved our family to New York City where he attended Union Theological Seminar School. It was during this time, that I began to get picked on for being “southern” and for having a look that wasn’t normal (natural hair). So not only did I begin to further resent having no choice in the matter of how I’d wear my hair; but, I also began to resent my Nigerian birth name.  Funmi is not a very common name and it wasn’t until I reached this new world that I realized how “black” my name was. I became aware quickly that my family wasn’t like most black families; my father wasn’t like most fathers.   

Once my mother started noticing that I was not acting like the outgoing, outspoken daughter I once was, she began to beg my father to allow her to straighten our hair, just so that I could concentrate on my studies instead of hating to go to school. With much hesitation and some resistance, he allowed her to do it. He realized that through it all, my comfort level at school was much more important than how people perceived me or how I thought they perceived me. He spent extra hours at night after our homework and chores were done talking and teaching about what it meant to be Black in America; the responsibility we had as young black girls to carry our heritage proudly. He spent many hours reiterating why it is not necessary to look “white”. He went thru great lengths to teach me that adding chemicals to my hair to make me look unnatural or to fit in should not offer me peace. He told me over and over again how beautiful I was without straight hair. He explained to me that people started straightening their hair to conform; to look more unthreatening; to lessen the negative attention they got from white people, while making them more comfortable with my appearance. He assured me that I must continue to have pride in being black and being his daughter no matter what my hair looked like. Although he didn’t like the idea of mother straightening my hair, he didn’t want me to be unhappy or to suffer either. He made that point quite clear.

Later in life, when I began to believe what my father had instilled in me - that I was beautiful, I started experimenting with styles as most young girls do. I realized fairly quickly that I didn’t favor looking the same all the time. I wanted to change my appearance quicker than most women. I might want to rock a short do this week and something long the next. *Insert weave here*. I began wearing colored hair to match my outfit. I went from curly to straight, long to short, didn’t matter because I was in complete control all the time of what I looked like. Plus, I had learned to do my hair myself, so I saved loads of cash not having to pay someone to do my hair every week (or every two days).

I realized that many may be confused by my appearance and may think that I wasn’t happy with what I looked like although that to me was simply ridiculous. I thought/think I was gorgeous. My hair did not make me any less or any more gorgeous. I just wanted to control how I looked instead of cutting a style into my hair and waiting for it to grow back; Or, having a natural style that looked the same each and every day. That just wasn’t/isn’t my style. However, I take great pride in my heritage and I don’t see how what I look like can offer any indication to anyone to what my level of pride is (or anyone else’s).

Today, men and women alike grow dread locks not to make a statement against white oppression or the black struggle or unity and strength (as intended), but because that’s the in thing to do. Everyone else does it. Celebrities have influence over our style of dress and even our hair styles. That should be clear to most when you see young men wearing their pants off their butts and women cutting Mohawks into their hair. They even have names for the styles. How many people rocked the Anita Baker cut; the Fantasia hairdo? So of course India.Arie, Cassandra Wilson, Jill Scott, Erykah Badu, and others will have the same influence on society in general. If they’re doing it, it must be okay right? Well that does not make a person identifiable with their African ancestry and it doesn’t make them any stronger in their Africanism than a person who doesn’t choose to look like their favorite artists. 

I commend any who embrace their heritage and choose to go natural for whatever reason they own that choice. But, I don’t take kindly to the assumption that those of us who haven’t chosen to go natural are somehow unhappy with our identity and /or who we are. I am black and proud. There is nothing about me that wishes to be white or not black. I know many sisters who have straightened hair that are more active in the struggle than some who wear dread locks and have no understanding about what the meaning of wearing those dreads dictate. We are different skin tones. Does being light skinned make me less black than a darker skinned woman? 

Are you blacker than I am because your hair is kinky?

Are you more cultural because you have locks?

Is our struggle any different because you have decided not to straighten your hair?

Do you think I am not discriminated against by white racists because I have straight hair, just as you are? 

Black people have found ways of separation throughout history. We have a tendency to put each other down in an effort to uplift ourselves which is unnecessary. We need not pass judgment on ourselves as all we do is continue to place division among our race. There is simply not enough education and acceptance. If the idea is to teach African pride, then let’s do that without making the assumption that it’s missing altogether. If you are proud, be proud. But don’t think you are in a category of your own. Don’t be so quick to look at your sister and determine her worth or sense of pride because she has not chosen to wear her hair as you have. 

If one should not be judged by the color of their skin, then is it not just as safe to conclude that no one should be judged by the texture of their hair. We are the same; born of the same African blood. Having a natural hairstyle doesn’t make you “more black” than someone who doesn’t. There are certainly people who have identity issues and may not love being black, but I can guarantee that you won’t be able to make that determination by looking at their hairstyle. Black women are beautiful whether their hair is locked, braided, in an afro, finger-waves, straightened, roller wraps, weaved, twisted, etc. We are beautiful because we have a choice. We can do all that to our hair. Name another race that has that option. 

My childhood experiences in heritage and African culture make it hard for me to fathom anyone glancing in my direction and noting a person who isn't proud to be African.  However, I do realize that once a person grows and accepts themselves, it's a normal reaction to think they've come to a place that others have yet to explore.  Not the case with me, my family or the people I grew up with.  My father created a foundation of truth and pride in his children and regardless of my hair style, that is who I am; strong and proud.  One day I may decide to go back to a relaxer-free way of life, but I guarantee that will still not make me any more afrocentric or any more black than I was the day I was born in this skin.

I am a black woman equipped with strength and pride in who I am and who you are. You are beautiful and so am I, regardless of our hairstyle. No matter where you come from, as long as you’re a black man/woman, you’re an African. No matter what the hair texture, as long as you’re a black man/woman, you’re an African.

Be you, and let me be me because we are both African. Black Power!

If you asked me today who my favorite rapper is, the answer would be quite different than it would have been about five years ago (and any year prior to that). As one who sings and has a very strong connection to music – good music – it is not easy for me to “like” an emcee. There are so many facets to making that determination. 

First, I must be able to understand what the hell the artist is saying. I know people generally like beats and like danceable music. I like that too. However, today, most of the music that’s danceable is matched with ridiculous lyrics. If the entire hook of a song is three words repeated over and over, there’s a good chance it won’t interest me. However, I’m not saying that music is bad – it has its place. That place just won’t be in my cd case.  Sorry Soulja Boy and Wacka Flocka!

My favorite rapper for years was someone with mature lyrics who talked about something. I like thoughtful lyrics but I don’t necessarily want to hear them all the time. The mood has to be right; my mind has to be right and ready to embrace depth. Therefore, although I love Talib Kwali, Common, Mos Def, Nas, etc…, I’m not always in the mood to think when I’m listening to music. Sometimes, I simply want to be engaged and entertained.

I also like swag. Swag equals the way one carries him/herself.  It’s important to me that the artist I call my favorite is able to sweep me away from my world and pull me into theirs. Whatever they are pointing out in song, I want to be able to feel it. I want to feel like I am having a conversation with this rapper; he’s talking to me. Therefore, I don’t particularly like screaming and yelling. I like charming, soulful tones.

Needless to say that for years, Jay Z has owned the spot as my number 1 Rap Artist. He has all those things, plus a distinguished manner that -coupled with his ability to market himself - equals greatness.  I have to respect and commend an individual who is able to do that and remain likeable (unlike P. Diddy who is a complete buttfart).  Respect is necessary in naming a favorite. I like the fact that Hova continuously put out consistently good music, reinventing himself while correcting those who seemed to come and destroy rap.  Thank you Jay for "Death to Autotones".  He may have had a hit or miss every once in a while, but whenever he put out an album, I knew, I was going to purchase it. It didn’t really matter if I had ever heard a song from that album or not, I was getting whatever he put out.  That's how I knew he was my #1 because I don't generally take risks with my money. 

These days, however, with so with everybody and their mama claiming to be rap artists, it's difficult to maintain that number one slot.  There are many rappers that get it done.  Ludacris, Lil Wayne (although he is steadily falling from the fav list since he insists on NOT RAPPING), Rick Ross, Kanye West, etc... all have a place on somebody's list.  But there is but one, for me, who has matched Jiggas finess AND conquered his spot.  

T.I........... the King of the South. YEP! I said it! The dude is hella bad. 

His flow is plain crazy! He has grown so much in the last couple of years that his life has become a success story which he plays out through his songs. It takes a great artist to make a record about himself and his journey that resonates to people, old and young, black and white. T.I. has done that repeatedly.  I suppose it doesn't hurt that he has a familiar southern drawl that simply makes it easier to identify with his words. 

I resisted T.I.’s appeal for so long because of the nature of his lyrics. I mean, although he’s proven his intelligence since “I’m Serious” consistently, I didn’t necessarily like what he was rapping about. It's not that it wasn’t absolutely real life. It was just simply not my life. So, he maintained a steady top five slot for years, until his last album, "Paper Trail".

This album is definitely among the classics for me. If you can put a cd in and let it ride from the beginning to the end without skipping – CLASSIC. If you get in your car on certain days and can’t change the gears to drive until you find that cd – CLASSIC. If you can recite every single word to every single song on the album – CLASSIC. If you experience a shift in emotions - good or bad- from listening to an album – CLASSIC. If you can listen to an album, song by song, and feel like you know who that person is – then you are listening to a CLASSIC.

If an artist can do all of the above on more than one album – GENUIS.

So, T.I. is my new #1 Rap Artist.

56 Bars - Paper Trail (2008) - (In bold, Queen's fav lines)

One for the money, two for the show, dog
Three for the niggas hatin' on the low, y'all
Know a picture's worth a million words, I'ma show y'all
Death before dishonor, family before all
Without the braids, I'm the closest thing to O-Dog
Minus the testimony, say it ain't so, homie!
Hey, shawty like that, don't he?
World hopped off my jock, I got him right back on it (Oh)
Stepped back, brushed myself off
Picked business back up right where I left off
I can show my dope, that other guy just talk
Ay, where I live just as big as your projects, dog
Ay, ha ha, better check my swagger
How I walk, how I talk, how I stack that cheddar
What I drive, how I dress, nigga let's just bet a
Hundred stacks on that, nigga I'm just better
Somebody better tell 'em, mane
They swag owe my swag everything
Very plain to see you study me awful hard
To the point that my swag need a bodyguard
I'd like to thank to thank you, cousin
Oh, and y'all oughta be havin' ya'll swag sendin' mines an apology
A lot of little me's I see, got beef?
What's the possibility? Stop, see, you not me
Hardly worth a hill of beans, step up to the guillotine
Get decapitated, don't see how half of you rappers made it
Say goodbye to the fame and the fortune, c'est la vie
What the game need wit' you, nigga? They got me
I ride through the city so clean, seat really low
Auto-mo-biel-lies so pretty, but I'm Illy, though
No comparison, ain't a nigga more thorough than
This gangsta American flow, doper than heroin
King like Evelyn "Champagne," man
So deranged and belligerent, ranked up there with Benjamin
Who? Andre 3K, B.I.G., Jay-Z, UGK, Scarface, Makaveli the great, Wayne, Common, Kanye and
Lupe, so fuck what you say
You welcome to ask who you may
Bet they say as of today
I'm back on top like a toupee
All objections overruled, it's overdue
Both high and sober too, I'm so high up over you
Same guy you see in the streets is as fly as here in the booth
So don't be surprised when you meet me to see I'm really the truth
Ooh, so uncouth, nigga, who want proof?
Must agree that shit I did, can't no one undo
I stay on my 1-2, nigga who want to
Turn a brunch into a brawl? Do what you gon' do
I'm why it's hot as a bitch in here
Still cool as a Frigidaire
This year I'm on a mission, dear
Think that was somethin,' listen here!

 Many may know that I take my place in this universe very seriously. I don’t play around with the understanding that what you give out, you get back. I try to live my life accordingly, however, like many - I fall short from time to time.

Most of the time when my journey comes to a point where I have to make a faith-based decision, it frightens me. I wonder if I have what it takes. I pray that what my spirit is saying to me is actually of God. I think. Who will support me? I can’t do this on my own. I make up all kinds of excuses to not move. I begin to question everything about me and what makes me work. Then, just as my strength begins to fade, here comes ole Satan himself to add fuel to the fire.

My friends disappear – almost like clockwork. I begin to have trouble getting up going to work, and other business affairs. I get lazy and tired. My energy simply eases away like a leaf blowing in the wind. When it’s real serious, I begin to put distance between me and my family. Something simple can spark a huge explosion. This is not how my family and I usually relate, so once this happens I know what to look for next.

Depression. Tears increase. Sadness wakes me up and lay with me through the night. I become angry that I am crying so much and that takes the depression to a level that simply consumes me. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to laugh. I don’t want to sing. None of which is a part of my natural being. 

There is only one word that I can think of that could create such a state of devastation. There is only one emotion that can cause this routine to interrupt my regular ease and disposition. There’s one thing that can shake my spirit in such a fashion that I loose myself in its power. 

FEAR!

Fear of newness;

Fear of the unknown;

Fear of greatness;

Fear of being chosen and then not succeeding;

Fear of knowing and not knowing;

Fear of embracing and progressing.

Well, I have decided NOT to live in fear. I have decided that what the Creator has for me is indeed, FOR ME. I will march on to victory for He holds my hand. I have nothing to fear for MY GOD is always with me and I know he’d never leave me. My mother once told me that God only wants us to be faithful and to trust. Well, no wonder I have such a problem. I haven’t learned how to trust anyone fully. However, I am much better today than I was yesterday and will get even better tomorrow.

So, Lord, bring it on. My next tearing session will be in celebration of the mountains you’ve moved from my path. The next song I sing will be to praise you for directing my path. The next talk I give will be to honor you for choosing me.