Rio, Black Women, and Me.
An appreciation for constantly reminding me of how good y’all have been and how much I love y’all.
Black women have always found a way to make me feel like I can fly. From my mother reading me “The Eagles who thought they were Chickens” as a child, to the first time the wings of my heart fluttered for a girl — a black girl.
To this day, nothing has changed.
Right now, the whole planet is watching black women from all nations, set the Olympics on fire. Making little black girls everywhere feel like they can do anything. With two strikes against them (race & gender) and brother Malcolm’s famous statement that remains relevant to our societies, they still seem to be unbothered.
Like today — as I was helping my wife organize her 3rd grade classroom in an underfunded African Centered Kansas City school— I seen two women walking done the hall laughing and celebrating the Olympic swimmer and now Gold medalist, Simone Manuel. The sounds of “girl, did you see her? She was doing that” and “she broke the record, as a black women,” were refereshing. It made me think about writing this. I remember the feeling I had when Dominique Dawes would appear on TV. I was struck. She’s one of the reason I started my sad attempts at “back flipping” in my neighborhood. The only black girl of the “Magnificent Seven” from the 1996 Summer Olympics was my crush.
I often think of how the road of black women in sports has been paved in a fight against racism, sexism, poverty and even more that I don’t have a clue on, because I’m not them.
But what they have accomplished under such circumstances, is a mouthful of Beyonce flavored lemonade served with a rhetorical helping of Toni Morrison. This Simone Manuel quote sums up what I mean:
“The title of black swimmer suggests that I am not supposed to win golds or break records, but that’s not true because I train hard and want to win just like everyone else.”
From the pool, to track and field, to gymnastics, weightlifting, boxing, basketball and even our losses in tennis, fencing etc., they (black women of the whole diaspora) are slaying the world right now. I’m so proud of each story I find, it reflects the weight that black women all around the world carry, athletes or not.
In my appreciation and continuous realization of the care you have for me, I offer this:
Dear Black women,
You’re always on the front line for us. When police kill us, you’re there. When we kill us, you’re there. When our fathers leave us (which isn’t so prevalent as the media would like us to believe), you’re there. When it seems like black women can’t be muslim fencers or champion swimmers, you show up. When we talk about your hair because of our self-hate, control issues, or envy, you still seem to represent our struggle during the national anthem. Even when we are wrong, you still find an honest way to stand by us.
I love y'all deeper than anything on earth.
Sincerely, a black man, birth from a graceful black woman, married to the sweetest black woman, raising four smart and beautiful black women. No matter how the “white gaze” feels from me being specific about you, I’mma celebrate y’all without a thought of who looks. Even when the Olympics are over.
