The Black Cat

It's been so long since I opened this site back up, and decided to let my thoughts pour out onto the keyboard. 

After thumbing through my abundance of post, it definitely seems that when I left Arkansas in 2011, I also left behind my desire to write because I couldn't find a journalism position in Texas. I see the beauty in that confusion and I realize how it helped to birth an entirely different part of myself that was hiding behind dead skin. 

The past 10-years have been as far from easy as the Earth from the Sun, but I've made it! 

Through my divorce, failed relationship with my children's father, and changing careers I have truly demonstrated my resilience and grit. 

After some trying days as I journey toward a few career advancements and as I prepare to begin my M.Ed. classes once again in June, I could tell that this COVID-19 pandemic is genuinely taking a toll on my spirit. 

This morning I walked into my kitchen and looked into the back yard only to see a small black cat lounged on my patio table. After a year and a half of living in this house, I had never seen this random black cat that had found his way into my gated sanctuary. He stared at me, I stared back, I boldly asked him what he was doing as if I were Dr. Doolittle himself, and then he looked back as if he was telling me that I knew why he was there. 

Since I am the self-proclaimed, "Google Queen", I quickly began searching "Black Cats Outside My Window". According to the post I read, "The Symbolic meaning of cats is that of protection and guardianship." 

I wouldn't necessarily consider symbolic-meanings.com as the most reputable source, but as I scrolled down further I read, "The appearance of these cats is also very promising because it tells me that you and your family are protected against energy that may thwart you from launching new ideas.  You all are guarded against trivial, bothersome set-backs."

Last night I sat in my car in the driveway solo, listening to the radio with my bottle of wine, feeling as if I was reliving some "Waiting to Exhale/Angel Basset" movie, and yelled out to God asking him, "WHY!?!" 

I might be slightly dramatic, but when you're approaching 33 and have a tendency to measure yourself based on your accomplishments, you often have random outtakes after self-reflection moments. 

This morning as I attempted to redirect myself with a workout, I peddled on and begin watching, "The Photograph." The opening scene pans to an artist being interviewed. As they begin, she's asked what she enjoyed about New York, "I like my work...I like being a mother," she hesitated and looked into the distance clearly disturbed by her inner voice. The off-camera interviewer then asks, "What are you thinking?" and then she replies, "I wish I was as good at love as I am at working, I wish I didn't leave people behind so often." 

A chill ran through my body because just hours before I mumbled nearly those exact words on the telephone. My career has been what I had a grip on over the past years...however, the later... is like a ship lost at sea.

At this moment looking back, I think the Black Cat might just be protecting me from me. 

Traditional Gender Roles in the Black Home

   Growing up I watched re-runs of I Love Lucy, I Dream of Jeannie, and Leave it to Beaver, pretty much all the Nick at Night specials. The common theme that existed throughout each of them was that the man was the head of the household and the breadwinner. The woman remained at home as her husband left for the day, helped take care of the kids, did the grocery shopping, and had dinner ready when he returned home. She fit perfectly into the traditional gender roles of a woman— the Victorian ideal of a woman.

   Each year as school ended and vacation began, I left my small town of White Cloud, Mich., spending nearly my entire summer in Detroit with my grandparents. My summer time experiences had a great influence on the woman I am today. Each morning I listened as my granddaddy got up at 5 a.m. to get ready for his school bus route, each afternoon I watched as my grandma prepared lunch and dinner; after dinner my granddaddy would sit with his Pepsi Cola, then proceed into the kitchen and wash the dishes— just as he had when my daddy was my age. Sunday mornings before church she would cook breakfast which always consisted of homemade biscuits, all while holding onto at least one of her crutches.  I thought my grandma was superwoman and my granddad was the luckiest man on earth. They were the perfect couple, never calling each other by their first names, always referring to each other as ‘Hunny’ and ‘Lady’.

   Growing up both my parents worked full time jobs. Some days my mommy would come home and cook a full meal, other days we may throw something quick in the oven, or eat out of our supply of chicken, beef, or oriental ramen noodles; which my brother and I had gotten down to the exact science, with our outrageous combinations. So you may be able to sense my daddy’s struggle, growing up with a mother who cooked at least two meals a day, to marrying a working woman, who still made sure her children were cared for, but may have not cooked but once or twice during the week and on the weekends.

   As society has progressed, the traditional gender roles that once filled our households have changed, stretching to conform to our daily lives. Black women are beginning to climb the corporate ladder. We are graduating from college at higher rates and earning more than our counter parts. But, what do we do when financially, we become the breadwinners for our families? What do we do in the event that our black man becomes unemployed, and we become the sole provider for our family? How is our relationship impacted when there is now a struggle in the black home when it comes to defining the traditional gender roles we were taught as a child?

   I’ve learned that highly educated Black women have a harder time finding a mate, because we struggle with the obstacle of finding someone who may be as equally educated. After graduating from the University of Michigan, I realized that it molded our small black community into becoming uppity. Many of us flash our Maize and Blue degree and think that we were better than others. And, I admit at times that I do think highly of myself, but then I begin to think back to my parents and my grandparents. Reality is I had to push my degree off its 5’1” pedestal and admit to myself that, I’m willing to overcome this obstacle. I refuse to allow my education to block the blessing that the Lord has in store for me.  I think it’s okay if traditional gender roles do not exist in my home. I’m not willing to lower my standards of what I expect from the man God has placed in my life. Yet, I understand that I may be the one who earns more financially, because of my degree, but I’m willing to support my man, letting him still wear the pants. The days of the Leave it to Beaver lifestyle was great then. But today with the percentage of highly educated Black women who remain single, I don’t think these ideal roles still have a place in the black home.

Progression Continues

It's been a while, since I last updated my blog, I apologize! There has been so much going on.

I started my new job, as the General Assignment Reporter for the The Sentinel-Record a newspaper located in Hot Springs, Ark.

I interviewed DICK VAN DYKE last week!! Yes, the "Nick at Night Man"  himself...lol

That is what I called him when my editor asked me if I wanted to do the interview, everyone laughed. But that's how I know him, and it just proved that I'm definitely the youngest person in our newsroom. 

I'm also the News Page Editors for ink Magazine. It's a online mag committed to the voice of Arkansas' African American community.

I realized that my first articles for three out of the four newspapers that I have worked for, have been on 1A/the front page. I believe that is something to send up a praise for.

It's been a rough year since I graduated from UofM, but God continues to prove himself amazing. I'll be going home this weekend for my family reunion. A little sad that Chad won't be going with me. But I'm too happy to see my parents, family and blue & white.

Hopefully Blue ComplexZity will be able to get together and have a little sister time!

Lightening Destroys Jesus Statue in Ohio

The statue that has grasp travelers attention on I-75 outside of Cincinnati, Ohio since 2004, was stuck by lightening on Monday. All that remained of the 6-story statue of Jesus Christ with his arms lifted toward heaven, was its steel-frame.

It's strange how this $250,000 symbol of salvation and redemption, was destroyed through burning.


The Columbus Dispatch's Article (Click to Read)

Sports, Drugs & Rapping...

   Two weeks ago I received a friend request on facebook. I was excited to see that it was a friend of mine from middle school, that I hadn't spoken with in almost five years.

   Lately we've been talking on fb chat while we're at work, and it's nice catching up on each others lives. I'm proud of him because he's really pursuing his rapping career, which I knew he really enjoyed. He gave me a mix tape back in the 7th grade! 

   As I was reading his bio on his label's site, and I was frustrated. I feel as if all Black men who have a desire to be an M.C., have this same generic life story. Granted it may be true, but it's depressing, and it starts a little like this: Young "Malcolm" grew up without a father and was raised by the streets. He desired to be the next Michael Jordan, but knew he had to make money and wanted to flash nice rings, and chains like the men he saw in his neighborhood. School wasn't the answer and Malcolm turned to selling drugs.

   This post is not to disrespect anyone, but as a Black women it makes my heart hurt. I want better for our men, for our brothers, our uncles and our sons. I want the path that leads toward becoming an M.C., a doctor, a lawyer or a professional athlete, not be be one of a hard life. 

   If raised by single mothers, I want them to be strong women, who tell their young Black sons, they can be anything they desire. Not that they will be just like their no good fathers.

   I read an article a few weeks ago on how rich kids like Diggy and Drake were taking over the "game", replacing artist, that really had a story of a struggle to tell. 

   Is that what Hip Hop and being an M.C. is all about? In order to have credibility and to have the ability to truly rhyme, you must have come from "nothing"?

  Reality is that some will have this life that is painted on television by the media (of which I am a part of), but I just hope that these same people desire more for their children. 

   My friend has a son, who by the way is adorable from the pictures I've seen. It's nice to hear him talk about him, and how someone so small has had such a grand impact on his life.

   If it is true, that rich kids are taking over the game, I wonder if it has anything to do with their parents making a change. Are parents like "Malcolm" wanting more for the one's that had such a huge impact on their lives. And are they refusing to allow them to live that same rough life that they rhymed about so many years ago? 

   If that is the case, has Hip Hop lost its originality?

Rue McClanahan dies at 76

I remember watching Golden Girls re-runs since I was 10-years-old, if not younger. I still catch myself watching the episodes on Lifetime, over and over again, some that I've already seen. For those of us who enjoy the saucy older women, who live together, we could always catch a laugh, at whatever Blanche Deveraux had planned for her new "man friend". This morning Rue McClanahan (Blanche) past away from a stroke. Below is a link for more information. However, her death will definitely not stop me from watching one of my favorite t.v. shows.

'Golden Girls' star Rue McClanahan dies from stroke; Betty White last surviving member of TV show

The Effects of Slavery, Do I Know Who I Am?

Yesterday I didn't find out that I was responsible for doing obits until about noon. It was frustrating seeing as how I usually start them at 9 a.m. on the Saturday's that I work for Tiffany.

But as I started I ran across the name James R. Webb Jr., and I had to stop and take a deep breathe. The obit was submitted from a Little Rock funeral home but it said, that he was originally from Macon, Ga.

Growing up I've always felt as if a void existed in my life, from the lack of knowing about my family tree. Trice is my maiden last name, yet my knowledge of my grandfather's family is almost little or none. About three years ago I met some of my cousins, after we began the planning for an annual family reunion. I always wondered why after almost 20 years I had just met this people that I share a last name with.

My mom's side of the family isn't as bad. Every third Saturday in July for as long as I can remember has been our annual Cadwell/Burch Family Reunion. This has been the day that my family looks forward to, like a birthday or Christmas.

The Cadwell side comes from my mom's dad. His mother's maiden name was Cadwell, and it's a large part of who I know myself to be.

Getting back to the Webb Obit. I was named after my grandmother-my mom's mom. And her maiden name is Webb. The oldest living relative in her family is my grandmother's Uncle- James Webb Jr. So do you see why I was a little caught off guard? Thinking that I had just received an obit for my great-great uncle. That was a little distrubing.

As I read through it, names and cities started to match and I called my mom and really started to feel a little uneasy. After she spoke with my Aunt Eddie-my grandmother's sister, we had a little clarity.

My Great-Great Uncle James is the son of James Webb Sr., and he the son of my Great-Great-Great Grandfather who was a slave in Macon, Ga. and as was common, received his last name from his slave master.

I finally went to the funeral website and pulled up the picture of this man who I assumed was going to be tall, slender and with dark complexion. I was wrong. The picture of saw was of a 93-year-old bald white man, with a tan suite on.

I was a little relieved.But, we are sure that he is a member of the family that owned mine. Because of his age, he and my great-great grandfather would have known each other. He has children in Little Rock and I almost want to contact them. Just to sit down and learn more about my history.

But this made me wonder. Being in Arkansas everyone asks me if I'm related to these Trice's or those. I have no idea! My mommy can go back almost five generations on her father and mothers side. However, I don't even know where to look or begin.

I've asked my granddad at times about his brothers and sisters, and it's hard for him to name them all, due to deaths at a young age and just the effects of time.

I wonder sometimes, am I any less of a person, because I can not trace my roots back to even three generations?