oh baby

I’ve a casual friend – actually a work colleague whom I’ll call Fay – who got married last year, becoming the stepmother to a 16-year-old girl I’ll call Cate. Last weekend, the 36-year-old Fay became a grandmother.

“So how’s the baby?” I asked, more for the sake of being polite than out of any real interest.

“He’s a lovely little thing,” she said. “And Cate seems quite happy – we actually managed to have a decent conversation for the first time in years.”

“Well, babies often bring a family together,” I mused.

“Maybe,” Fay replied, and an odd note of bitterness crept into her voice. “All I know is that I’m now a grandmother at 36. And all of a sudden, despite all the shit she’s put us through over the past year, despite the fact that yet another teenaged girl has given birth out of wedlock, everyone in the family now loves her and looks at her as quote-unquote ‘normal’, while they’re all looking at me and going, ‘Fay, when are you gonna have a baby?’ Never mind the fact that Nate and I don’t want kids – Cate is enough. But I’m viewed as some kind of freak because I don’t want to have a baby…why is that?”

I can well relate to how she feels. Eight weeks shy of my 50th birthday, I’ve never had a child, never been pregnant, and what’s more, I never wanted children. While my sisters and my childhood girlfriends played house with their Chatty Cathy and Betsy Wetsy dolls, I was writing poems and plays; when I played with dolls, it was with Barbie, and my fertile imagination had her travelling the world and enjoying exciting adventures that had nothing to do with children or cleaning and cooking for Ken. I made the decision at the tender age of nine that I would never have children, and while I have never regretted it, I will agree with Fay and say that society looks upon a woman who is childless as an aberration.

My parents – who were light years ahead of their time in sexual matters, or perhaps they merely remembered the passion of youth and so were more realistic in their thinking – explained procreation to my siblings and me at an early age and without embarrassment. When I was 13 my menstrual cycle began, and they repeated the talk, adding that now I could get pregnant, so any sexual curiosity on my part could have consequences which would last forever.

“I’m never havin’ kids,” I stated with all the loftiness a 13-year-old could muster. “I don’t want kids – I want to do other things.”

“That may be,” my mother shrugged. “But if you don’t want them, then you’ll need to abstain from sex, which is what I hope you’ll do, leastways til you’re old enough to handle it. But I suspect you won’t, so don’t leave it up to the boy to protect you – protect yourself. If you absolutely cannot wait, then come see me, and I’ll get you protected.”

So I went on the Pill at the age of 14, remaining on oral contraceptives until my doctor took me off them at the age of 36 because – as a smoker – my risks of stroke and/or heart attack had increased. From 36 until my liberating hysterectomy at the age of 43, I gritted my teeth and gratefully accepted a Depo Provera injection every three months.

In between the ages of 18 and 43, I had to listen to a variety of often intrusive and insulting remarks about my childless state, including:

only selfish people don’t want kids (has anyone told this to the millions of men who have never married or fathered children?)

God made women to have kids (and does God make the people who have kids abuse them?)

is there something wrong with your fallopian tubes? (no, and there’s nothing wrong with my birth control, either!)

God put you here to have kids (so God talks to you – what does your doctor say about this?)

are you gay? (this from men who were unable to believe that I could reach the age I have without producing at least one rug rat)

who’s gonna take care of you when you get old? (I personally can’t think of a worse reason to have children)

why don’t you adopt? (this from people who assume that I desperately want kids but a medical problem prevents me from having them)

Society treats people with children better. They’re given more time off when children are born or adopted or sick. In the UK, there are special parking places at stores and malls for families with kids, similar to the parking spaces reserved for the handicapped. Also in the UK, people with small children or infants are given preferential treatment on public transport the same way the handicapped and elderly are.

By contrast, society treats childless women as suspect. They assume that all women have maternal feelings, that all women yearn to create life. People in general assume that single and childless people are eager to view other’s snapshots of their children and grandchildren, or to have their working day interrupted by a co-worker who brings the newest addition to their family into the office. An assumption is made that childless single women are self-centered, soulless, emasculating creatures concerned only with their careers. And we’re certainly not deserving of time off, though we work as hard as our counterparts with families, and our taxes help to pay for the schools attended by the children of said counterparts.

Let’s look at some stats:

Currently, there are approximately 513,000 children in foster care in the United States. It's estimated that 114,000 are eligible for adoption.

There are just over 70,000 children and young people looked after on any given day in the UK, almost 50,000 (62.5 per cent) of whom live with 43,000 foster families.

Each week, child protective services agencies throughout the United States receive more than 50,000 reports of suspected child abuse or neglect.

An average of nearly four children die every day as a result of child abuse or neglect.

I could go on, but why bother? Clearly, some of these people who wanted children obviously didn’t want them enough to treat them well. If all the people who had children wanted them, then why is the foster care system straining at the seams – why do I have to look at that horrid commercial for the NSPCC (National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children)? Personally, I find it frightening that you need a license to drive a car, a license to hunt or fish, yet anyone can become a parent, even those people who should never become parents.

And for the record, I don’t hate kids. I have 10 nieces and nephews, 2 great-nieces and 3 great-nephews and am godmother to five children. And I love all these children dearly. I love them as much as I love myself, and I loved myself enough to realize my devotion to other things would detract from motherhood.

So the next time you decide to put down us childless single folks, don’t.

copyright © 2008 KPMCL

blues for the B-boys

stout Sheldon & slender Shelby
(aka “Hardcore” & “Sex Me”)
brothers in blood.
eclectic enigmas symbiotically connected
by the twin children of crack & crime
always doin’ or markin’ time.

& the baby of the bunch
mah nigga Big Bang
his pants always hang
below the crack of his ass
& his voice is strident, like breaking glass.

psychically frail Frederick (aka “Fat Al”)
frowns frightfully,
a front for his fearfulness at
being encircled by communal homicide
always eating, a slow-motion suicide.

from a loneliness that none will admit
they’ve allowed her admittance into their clique
they are both furious & curious:
cuz she can’t be described or classified as a
“bitch” “hoe” or “hood rat”
so they wonder how she escaped that.

& she knows she can’t reach them:
they are not seduced by the syllables of Shelley,
& they are bemused by her belief that
In education lies salvation,
although they all grudgingly agree that
“Etheridge Knight is aw-ight.”

so she subtly tries to teach them
(without seeming to do so)
transforming the essays of Malcolm into rap,
explaining the origins of the dap,
there are trips to the museum & the beach, where,
sadly, she discovers none of them can swim.

they would drown in such deep water
& she cannot tell them they are drowning on dry land
(not while Bang holds that nina in his hand)
so she hides her fears
endlessly plays Tupac’s So Many Tears,
& together they wait for The Man.

copyright © 2007 KPMCL

wasted membranes

i get high on crystal meth;
i get stoned, like a soul picnic,
wasted membranes,
you’re gone
and i’m left with twisted grey matter.

she’s my pusher,
wide open,
and ready for action.
she, her, they.
i know it’s you,
but do you trip like i do,
on the vapor trail?
get busy child, trip like i do.
i’m jaded, i’m faded, i made it
to a place
where darkness veils
when all else fails,
and darkness is the mask
that hides us all.

it’s been three days,
and now, i’m starting over.
there’s high and low
and crystal meth is high
and twisted matter is low.
and i know it’s you, but you
don’t trip like i do.
bound too long,
you know it’s hard, or do you?
you’re wild, sweet and cool,
wide open
and ready for action.

i get high on crystal meth;
i get stoned, like a soul picnic.
i end up with wasted membranes.
and, i know
you’re right,
but I’m left
with twisted grey matter.

This is blackstarr saying "Vive La Renaissance".

copyright © 2008 blackstarr

blackstarr52@gmail.com

Renaissance, New Millenium, wasted, crystal, grey, matter

Change: part 2

In 1969, from August 15th through August 18th, the first Woodstock concert took place in Bethel, New York. It was an historic event of magnanimous proportion. I wasn’t there. I was only 17 years old, and Mom said, quite calmly and simply “No”. She would have said “H*ll, no!”, but, she’s not a swearing woman. Years passed, and I became a father. On July 29, 1985, my son was born. I was there. On August 9, 1987, my daughter was born. I was there. On July 2, 2005, Live 8 took place with concerts all around the world, in an effort to convince the major powers of the world to drop or, at the very least, greatly reduce the debt of African nations. One such concert was held here in Philadelphia. I was there, along with my two children, witnessing history once again. Finally, on April 18, 2008, another historic event - another historic event of magnanimous proportion took place, and, again, it was right here in Philadelphia. Sen. Barack Obama spoke at a rally, at Independence Hall . . . and I was there!

“CHANGE!” Did you hear that?! Let me play it for you one more time. “CHANGE!” That’s the sound of nearly 40,000 people shouting “change” all in one huge, unanimous voice. That was the scene this past Friday when I witnessed the voice of the most charismatic person that I’ve ever had the pleasure to hear. There was the warmth of summer-like temperatures. Frisbees were tossed about as if we were back in Haight-Asbury, circa 1968, and there was the seemingly endless chant of “Obama, Obama, Obama!” Music was being piped into the microphones, and the crowd sang along and danced to the tunes that were familiar, but, soon, they grew tired of even the peppiest of tunes. There was but one thing that they had all gathered for – the appearance of Sen. Barack Obama.

We’ve all heard it before. We’ve all listened to it over and over and over. Yet, we never seem to tire of that charismatic voice saying that what this country needs is change. He reminded us that Sen. Hillary Clinton was not above playing the same old political games of kowtowing to big business, and business as usual. He reminded us that the name “John McCain” was just another way of saying “George W. Bush”. He reminded us that he was not willing to let the lobbyists maintain their headlock upon the will of the people. He said more than a mouthful. More than anything else, he reminded us, again, of what this country needs. Not for one second did we ever tire of his trademark call for change.

I missed Woodstock. I really wanted to be there. Four days of wanton freedom and it slipped through my fingers. I was fortunate enough to be present when my children were born, and I was there to witness history in the making, with my children in tow, by attending what could be called “the concert of the millennium”, Live 8. This past Friday, I witnessed history, once again, as I stood among the crowd of nearly 40,000 admirers, and listened with bated breath as the man say “Change”.

This is blackstarr saying “Vive La Renaissance”.

Blackstarr52@gmail.com

Renaissance, New Millennium, Barack Obama, change, Hillary Clinton, John McCain, George W. Bush, Live 8, Woodstock

Change: part 1

No matter what accomplishments President Barack Obama should accumulate during his eight years in office, his claim to fame will be one simple word: change. There is a lot of talk about the folly of voting along party lines these days. As I always like to remind everyone, in a presidential election there are only two parties: Republican and Democratic. No matter who else runs, they are the only two that really count. When it’s all said and done, the winner will be either a Republican or a Democrat. It is what it is. That can change in the future if we make the right efforts at the local and state levels, priming a good, viable candidate for office, regardless of their party affiliation. For today, it is what it is – Republican or Democratic. Do you want change or do you want another eight years of no foreseeable way out of poverty for most of America? Do want change or do you want to continue to live in a country that does not care one iota about its citizens’ health? Do you want change or do you want our children, our future, to continue to receive a second-rate education? Do you want change or another few more years of American soldiers dying in yet another war that should not have been in the first place? Are you going to get out there and help us vote in a Democrat? Will you help us to vote in a Democrat who will bring about a change?

I am who I am. No matter what most other folks are into, I can only be me. I’m not into reality TV – not in the least. I’m not down with the touchy-feely philosophies that a lot of people feed into as of late. More importantly, I’m not as “politically correct” as most folks would have me to be. That having been said let me remind you that Barack Obama is a truly charismatic man, that he professes an affinity towards change, and that he claims to be against letting big corporation lobbyists maintain control. Perhaps all of that is true, but only time will tell. Those are all good reasons to cast your vote for Sen. Barack Obama. I will give you one more reason – one more valid reason - for my African-American brothers and sisters to help vote Sen. Barack Obama into office – one for which the “politically correct” folks will probably fry me. Sen. Barack Obama is someone with whom I can identify – he is an African-American. That alone is reason enough for me.

copyright © 2008 blackstarr

blackstarr52@gmail.com

Renaissance, new millennium, change, Barack Obama, Democratic, Republican, party lines

u-n-i-t-y

I’m an inveterate collector. Books, CDs, DVDs, earrings, watches, wigs, handbags, shoes, photo frames....you get the picture (apologies for the pun). This forces me to clean my closets twice a year in a vain attempt to make room for those items I’ve ‘collected’ since the last cleaning.

While performing this bi-annual ritual I came upon a long-hidden box. This box made the journey with me six years ago when I moved from the US to the UK. It contained photographs, which I hid because it made me too homesick to look at them. I have long since conquered my homesickness, so I dragged the box down from its corner on the top shelf, and dumped the contents onto my bed.

There were Ma and Daddy. They often fought like cats and dogs, but they loved each other – they had each other’s back. A dog-eared picture of me with my siblings at a long-ago Fourth of July celebration...lined up in birth order, arms around each other, forever entwined. And a photo from a block party of me, my siblings, and the East 148th Street gang (from the days when ‘gang’ meant your friends as opposed to the people you ran around with killin’ other folks): John, Eleanor, Trish, Nina, Eric, David, Stevie, Leonard, Denise, Debbie, PeeWee, Gail, Junior, Donald, and the Jackson twins.

What struck me most about this picture was the way we looked like we belonged to each other. A stranger looking at this photo could see the ties that bound us to one another – our unity was a palpable presence that transcended the celluloid it was captured by.

There is a saying: “it takes a village to raise a child”. This was the creed which I, my family and everyone I grew up with lived by and adhered to. We looked out for one another. We took care of each other. When Mrs. Hawkins found me behind the garage smokin’ weed with her kids, she didn’t just whip them, she whipped me as well, then phoned my mother and told her, “I just found Katherine behind the garage smokin’ that funny shit with Edgar ‘n them ‘n I beat all their asses.” My mom would say “thank you Jean” – and when I got home, I got another whippin’. When Mrs. Barbara died suddenly and Mr. Barbara fell into a depression so profound he couldn’t even speak, everyone on the block took care of him: he was fed, his house was cleaned, his grass was cut, and the men of the neighbourhood held him when he cried.

Sadly, some where between the time of my childhood and the time I reached adulthood, that sense of unity disappeared in the black community. No longer did neighbours look out for one another. The extended family – indeed, the black family – crumbled and fell apart, decimated by the demons of divorce and drugs, crack and crime.

Beautiful black people - my people - we need to get that unity back. It’s not an impossible task; our history is filled with kings and queens, princes and poets, idealists and inventors. Our history resonates with the words of men and women who had high hopes and dreams for our collective future, people like Phyllis Wheatley, Frederick Douglass, James Baldwin, Richard Wright, Ralph Ellison, Maya Angelou, Malcolm X and Martin Luther King.

Barack Obama is a man who sees the need not just for blacks to re-discover that unity, but for a nation to discover and embrace unity.

One of my Stateside friends sent me the email below:

Why is it that a black man can create a tiny piece called a filament (the electric light, Lewis Latimer) that allows people to see in the dark? Yet he is not seen as fit to lead a country to the light. Why is it that a black man can create an instrument (the clock, Benjamin Banneker) that all people use to tell time? Yet people don't think it is time for him to run a country. Why is it that a Black Man can design a place for the authorities to meet in (Washington DC, Pierre L'Enfant) and a place for the President to live in (the White House, Phillip Reid)? Yet he is not good enough to lead these meetings or live in this building himself. Why is it that a black man was brilliant enough to do the first open heart surgery (Dr. Daniel Hale Williams) and show the world how to get and preserve plasma (Dr. Charles Drew)? Yet he is not good enough to put a program in place where everyone can afford this surgery. Why is it that a black man was creative enough to design an instrument (the traffic light, Garrett Morgan) to bring multiple people and vehicles to a halt? Yet he is not seen as creative enough to design a plan to bring all this unnecessary and worthless fighting between countries to an end. Why is it that a black man could create the soles (for shoes, Jan Matzeliger) that people walk on everyday? Yet he is not seen as good enough to fill the shoes of a bad president. Why is it that a black man was smart enough and brave enough to teach himself (Fredrick Douglas & Thomas Fuller, both slaves) and others how to read, write and calculate math? Yet he is not seen as smart enough and bold enough to calculate a platform to be President to a country.

My Brothers and Sisters, what I am saying is let us not forget our past, which led us to our present and can definitely be the backbone to our future. We were good enough, smart enough, creative enough, and bold enough then, so let’s give Obama the chance to show that we are still these things and more. We all are as strong as our weakest link, so don't be that weak link that denies our people that chance to show we still can overcome.

To put it simply, it’s called UNITY.

Y’all know what you need to do.

copyright © 2008 KPMCL

Dark Army

just before the sun goes down
just before dark
with shades of black & brown
just before the sun sinks into its hole
come the voices of those that have no soul

voices of violence
from the past
voices of nightmares
determined to last
voices of terror
despairing in the dark
voices of insanity
at its most stark

just before the shadows fall
just before dark
when the ghosts come through the wall
just before the clouds bleed red
come the voices of the dead

copyright © 2008 KPMCL