A Note from Mel

Make the connection…

Lorde, mothers and sons. October 15, 2008

I’ve heard it said before (that being a mother changes you). I just never understood how so or how much until I became one one December afternoon in 2006. Those who know me and my baby boy know that he arrived about 8 months after this on a temperate July evening. But, I was a mom almost immediately; Not because I was bearing him, but because I almost immediately began to internalize what being a mom entailed for me and my baby. At first, an absolute and complete state of puzzlement encapsulated me for no longer than two days; Immediately after, a constant peace set in, a knowing from a place I could not name or locate.

Almost 15 months later after his physical arrival to this place, this constancy has remained, sort of like an axis on which my life as a mother spins steadily, however, fast or slow.

Some constants: my overwhelming determination to preserve, protect, educate, enjoy the Black male I bore. The feeling which benefits from, but gains no essential value from knowledge/the mind, can only be described as fierce.

Fiercely, I love him. Fiercely, I protect him. Fiercely, there are no conditions.

I know the day will come where protector will no longer be my role. Many things, he will have to learn on his own. Some things are not in my power to teach him. However, I am empowered by Audre Lorde ‘s essay, Man Child: A Black Lesbian Feminist’s Response in Sister Outsider :

“I wish to raise a Black man who will not be destroyed by, nor settle for those corruptions called power by the white fathers who mean his destruction as surely as they mean mine. I wish to raise a Black man who will rcognize that the legitimate objects of his hostility are not women, but the particulars of a structure that programs him to fear and despise women as well as his own Black self. For me (Audre Lorde), this task begins with teaching my son that I do not exist to do his feeling for him.”

I do not exist to do his feeling for him. First I think of course not. But then I think how not? An immediate conflict of feelings. A feeling to embrace, a feeling to develop until his manhood, a feeling to let diminish for his benefit.

This journey, the practice of diminishing in tandem with large ties, bonds, care, is just beginning for my son and I. This life comes through us (mothers) and has nothing to do with the mind.
So much we teach them. But how much more they teach us. How joyful and painstaking is this road.

Lord, Lorde , have mercy. Give me the strength to bear his smiles.

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The Color of My Fruit-Bearing Place September 19, 2008

If I had to think of this election in terms of color, those colors would be hue and hue alone. The purest of pure. No changing, distorted, yo-yoing values (blind insertions of black and white). Just straight bouncing blues, anti-rhetoric reds, give-it-to-me straight greens, yes-sir (I decide for my vagina. It is after all my vagina) yellows.

 

 

Let Sarah keep her Trig’s aimed at the big maroon-haired animal in the sky blue. Let her keep her Palin peach and stow it under some snow and a dead, antlered carcass. I dare it to bear fruit on the snowy Alaskan plain. She does not represent my color, as a woman or otherwise.

 

 

 

Our times, our times. Color.