Birth Days

Massa came out, wrapped his hands around Olivia’s hair and pulled. She followed neck churned in an ungodly fashion. All the slaves on the plantation stopped for a moment of prayer. There was no movement besides Becka tearing through the field screaming, “No, Massa, no! Don’t take my baby way, please!”

But she was afar off and by time she had reached the spot where the little girl’s hair was wrenched, Massa was in the shack behind the main house. The other women gathered round Becka and told her everything was gonna be alright. They was lyin’ of course. But they didn’t have any vocabulary beyond a lie and a truth, and this was Becka’s first time experiencing something worse than her own rape.

Massa emerged and went back inside the main house for a cool glass of lemonade.

Becka and the women pushed open the door of the shack and saw Olivia rolled in a ball so many times after that day it seemed to be deja vu. They would rap her in a blanket and carry her back to the slave quarters. The women would clean the girl up best they could, finding unsoiled patchwork scraps to dress any exposed part, softly brushing the long coils into two pig tails that spoke loudly; I AM A CHILD.

But that was a lie too. Becka wiped away tears where there were none, and said, “Hush now, chile, Mommas here,” to whimpers non-existent. In the midst of Becka’s prayers, Olivia would just get up and walk out to finish her chores.

Becka didn’t get dandelion bouquets, the chance to kiss booboos on scraped knees, or a warm hug after singing a lullaby. Becka tried hard to bring back the girl who giggled in her sleep, hummed non-stop, and hung close to the other girls, eyes shut tight, beseeching God, when Massa came out. Now she could stare the Devil down.

Becka never understood how Martha could mutter under her breadth, “Killa, killa dead,” at the site of her newborn. Some said she evil. Others said she virtuous.

The elders say, “Naw, she just be a mother.”

Olivia was early delivering. Her eyes lit wide with hope, she grabbed her Momma’s hand and wouldn’t let go, “Pray, Momma, pray.” But Becka couldn’t stop crying long enough to say one single word to Jesus. Crying cause the feeling of being a mother after three years rushed in on her all at once; crying for all the tears Olivia couldn’t shed herself. The women smacked the baby on the behind and it wailed nicely.

“Hell, naw!” Olivia spat venom when the women tried to take the baby off to get cleaned and wrapped up. The women turned back with the baby so Olivia could see what she and her Daddy had created. Straightaway, the life seeped from Olivia’s small frame. The infant looked healthy, but only time would tell.

The women exhaled, and turned back to get the baby cleaned, but Becka stopped them this time. Two days later, Becka wrapped the stillborn in the pretty blue quilt Olivia had scrapped together. She laid her in the box with her Momma.

The elders say, “She just be a grandmother.”

Book Review: "I Spat: In Spirit, Power and Truth" by Stephanie R. Bridges

Relationship 101

By the title you would assume that I am about to provide advice, insights, tips and tricks; however, that is far from the case. Relationship 101 is a class that I would like to take without actually having to attend, study or test. By osmosis I would like to ingest the necessary professional knowledge to conduct positive, meaningful, long lasting connections. But by osmosis I don’t mean that I actually want to be around happy couples or unhappy couples for that matter. I guess I have found my issue – work. Relationships are so much work. My perfect partner would be a robot, gay or married.

Now before you place me on a list for America’s Most Ratchet, let me say I have only “dated” one person that was married living in the home with his wife – to my knowledge. He was a musician and I am a writer, so I was intrigued by his artistry. We communicated for six months and during that time I was adamant that I do not/will not/ever no not be intimate with a married man. After the first evening of rejection, he no longer even pursued me in the same manner. Now the key is “the same manner.” We became friends and would talk for hours about music, writing, growing up, embarrassments, insecurities, mental health, you name it. I listened to his music, and he read my book. I mean literally sat 100 ft. away from me and read the entire manuscript from cover to cover.

Eventually I did start seeing someone else who wasn’t seeing me back, and after that was over, well you know the drill. My guards were down and the next time “my friend” hinted at something more I was open. The physical did not disappoint. This lasted off and on for at least two years – my longest relationship. But I guess it doesn’t really count as a relationship. At least I don’t count it. It was literally like playing house. After a few hours, you have to go back home to eat, do your chores, your mom (wife) is calling. The only strings were emotional. And I am one woman who is not big on emotions. I feel but I would rather not, so I work very hard to maintain control over every mood emoted good or bad. I probably broke up with him once every two/three months. But it wasn’t over, until he stopped seeing me. I wanted to be friends, but our “friendship” was a casualty of intimacy.

Dating a married man or woman staves off a lot of the pressures, responsibilities and constraints of being in a committed, monogamous relationship. But eventually expectation and ultimatum rear their ugly heads. That brings me to gay men. I know I cannot be the only straight woman that has a thing for gay men. We need a group, self-help book and a recovery plan. It is crazy because I do not like straight, effeminate men; that’s just suspect. But actual out of the closet, feminine, lisp gay? I’m crushin’ all day, all day. Now let me preface this by saying I have never actually had a close connection to a gay man – everything is still in the fantasy stage. But from where I sit, it seems like a win win; close friend, flirtation, and companionship. If things do progress they have all the right accoutrement, but if not that is cool too. Everyone knows where they stand, and he would be someone I could pursue for once.  Please, Baby Baby Baby, Please. I would like to know what that feels like.

Believe me when I say, I will probably never act on the fantasy (I’m currently only stalking one gay man on social media). But if there are any gay men out there looking for a beard, I’m available. Alas, where is technological advancement when you need it most? In 20/30 years I bet half of all relationships will be with someone of the opposite make and model. A robotic romantic rendezvous is my truth. I was just born before my time. I hope you scientific engineering types are reading this. Dorothy is still trying to slide some oil to Tin Man. 

I have also closed my legs to married men. I was recently tempted by a man I had been with prior to his nuptials. I assured him that he was on my mind too (that’s actual and factual), but I am a changed woman. The only thing my companionship prospects have in common is that they are all unavailable. So, I guess it is back to straight, single, human men. The next time I will try to make myself present and available for Relationship 101 – the class, not the life experience. Baby steps people, baby steps.

Black on Black is Not a Crime

White on White Crime

I am so disturbed by the phrase “Black on Black Crime.” I hate when it is thrown out as an excuse for Police Brutality and Wannabe Police Brutality, but I am equally pained when those opposing the ridiculous argument use the same disparaging terminology. There is no such thing as Black on Black Crime, any more than there is white on white crime, brown on brown crime, or blue on blue crime. They do not exist, so why do African Americans embrace this expression to either agree or disagree with its contentious and conjured merit? Can we please take a collective deep breath and stop going along with America’s subliminal racist tactics to continue blatant racism hidden in plain sight?

Black on Black should be celebrated, applauded and admired. Black on Black is love, community, pride and power. I refuse to allow commentators, hate groups and apologists to define my heritage, ancestry and seed as criminal. My children and their children; my parents and grandparents; my ancestors who bore stripes, nooses, hoses, bars, chains, electric chairs and bullets were far from criminal. The sacrifice, toil, and unadulterated hate that was heaped upon them without ceasing did not give them rise to give in. They built a nation on their backs without recompense, without apology, without acknowledgement. We are a resilient people who believe in survival, not for self but for generations to come. There is nothing criminal in that.

Militarized Police

Please do not get middle class comfortable and forget from where we come and how far we have yet to travel. Police officers are given carte blanche to detain, arrest, and murder black bodies. Wearing a hoodie, listening to loud music, playing/holding toy guns in an open carry state, being big, suffering mental illness, being homeless, driving, running, bicycling, walking, complying, just being are all sufficient reasons for the police to beat, tase, and shoot African Americans to death justifiably in a court of law. This does not take into account the countless hours of harassment endured, tickets levied, fines paid, and years of imprisonment imposed on the innocent. White on Black Crime would be far more accurate historically and present day.

When Black on Black Crime is brought up to excuse organized criminal activity by those charged with protecting and serving the African American community; retort with the phraseology and statistics of “White on White Crime”; ask for a definition of the term forcing them to unpack the racist, convenient and meaningless catchphrase; or explain what Black on Black means to you – innocence, resilience, love, strength, pride and power. Black on Black is harmonious, humorous, ingenious, inspirational and amorous. I’m so glad you brought up Black on Black because that is me guilt free, seeking liberty in the midst of a Red, White and Blue on Black Crime Spree.

Beautiful Black on Black Family

Identity Crisis - Excerpt from the Chapbook "I SPaT"

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My identity has made a huge impact on my art. Expertise is ever evolving, but the credential of self-knowledge is probably the easiest to back. So many writers, including myself, write about what we know. It is accessible and often therapeutic. I am a Christian, so I try to maintain some semblance of Godliness in my work. The Bible discusses the best and the worst in each of us, yet it is still biblical. I try to be as honest and raw when need be in my commentary, but I remind myself that my lower self has no place in public company. Speaking from a higher voice not only releases wisdom from a spiritual source, it also guides me to where I need to be; often the talk comes first, and then the walk. I am black, so my perspective is awash in the pigment of Africa and whitewashed in the hue of America. It is all that I know. I have no other voice. I am delighted by all of me, but perhaps it is a longing for my motherland that keeps me attached to the fantasy of what lying in her warm bosom would have meant in the face of a cold patriarchy that holds me at arm’s length in my own home. I am a recovering alcoholic and drug addict; mental health issues are a constant and depression, like a friend, is always near. So I struggle to remind myself how far I have come, this too shall pass, and just say, no. This part of me I give freely to the reader, because I know how important a word, any word can be. Sometimes we just need to know someone made it over to the other side, even if they are teetering on the edge. I am a single mother of four. The best and the hardest role one can take on; nothing original. There were days that literally drowning would have been a relief from the cruelty of being underwater sun after sun, moon after moon. I contemplated running away, alcohol, suicide. That is how hard it was, but I also saw the best of me in their eyes. So I stayed; sober, alive. Ironically, if I didn’t have them I would either be a bestselling novelist leading a fabulous life or dead from a self-inflicted tragedy. I am almost sure it is the latter. That is why I have them or perhaps they have me. My children are in every press of the keyboard, every press of pen to paper, every press I extol to the world – read all about them! I don’t have much to offer, so I write for them.

Click to View SpokenWord - Excerpts from "I SPaT"

My words are a tangible offering of my identity free spirit. Yes, I am free of the labels I carried for more than forty years; however, my writing is for those on the brink of liberty; those that can relate to how I made it by and by. It has been nearly ten years since I first completed this book. There are some revisions and poem additions in this updated printing. But the biggest change has come from within. I am leading with my perfected spirit and no longer with my many human flaws. Blessed be those who know me now. My step is lighter, my focus is clearer, my days are better, and my smile is real. If God never did another thing for me, He has already done enough for His praise to continually be in my mouth; now, I feel the same way about me. If I never write another word, make another dollar, or see another day, the love I have for myself will forever be overflowing. But just like God will make a way out of no way, I will write another word, receive recompense for my service and live on throughout eternity. Eventually, my work will reflect the identity free spirit that joyfully abounds within me, but until then my ink will remain black to reflect the struggle, depth, and enduring faith of God’s people; black to reflect God’s everlasting mercy and eternal grace - In Spirit Power and Truth.

5 Reasons to Support Diverse Children's Books

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I am an advocate for diverse books in all areas: Family structures, disabilities, all ethnic groups, etc. I am an African American Author who writes books that feature black main characters; hence, most of my commentary will relate to that perspective.  

It is important for children to see themselves as main characters in literature from the earliest stages of life. Much of our learning about what and who is important comes from media; including books. Reading enhances literacy, imagination and skill level in myriad subject areas. Reading a book with characters that you can relate to through name recognition, ethnic background, and familial structures increases the targeted demographics’ interest in reading and writing. One good book could foster a lifetime of learning. Currently there is a lack of diversity in children’s stories. If African American children are not present in the books read at school and at home, it sends a message that they are not a vital part of the fabric of the United States; what they have to offer and who they are is not necessary nor desirable to the American discourse. Inclusion is not just paying lip service and writing blogs about the need for diversity but actually stepping up and including diverse books in our nation’s schools, libraries, and major publishing house catalogs. The first step is always admitting that we have a problem and the 2^nd step is using our dollars as a voice of support.

It is important for children to see children besides their own demographic as the main characters in literature from the earliest stages of life. Caucasians are sent the subliminal message that they are more important than people of color from a very early age. If you have a diverse group of students and as the teacher, you do everything you can to make sure all of the children feel included, welcome and safe, you are undermining all of your efforts if 90% of the books read at story time feature white protagonists, authors and illustrators. This will have one of two effects on the majority population. Some will feel superior to the other students in the classroom and POC in general, because they are lauded daily as the most valued and desirable ethnicity, and the ones most capable of telling stories, becoming authors and illustrators and following and fulfilling their dreams. Other white children who are more aware despite not being at an age to fully articulate their feelings, will carry embarrassment and guilt. Many children do not feel comfortable being the subject of favoritism in the classroom or at home. It takes away from their respect for authority figures because they are still at an age where fairness is still a foremost gauge in how they see the world and the people in it. By supporting and purchasing diverse books for schools and in the home white children are introduced to the concept that all human beings are created equal and hold value, not just in word but in deed.

Taylor Hicks illustrated
"If I Were Part of the Animal Kingdom"

We need more African American Authors and illustrators. Quite literally the more representation that black children see in different career fields, the more comfortable and capable they will feel pursuing careers in those industries. I would advise parents of young African American children to seek out doctors, dentists, and professionals in general that reflect their culture. Young black boys want to be athletes and rappers in an attempt to emulate success. What if black children were exposed to books with African American authors and illustrators on the back or inside flap of their favorite childhood books? Those images would be models of success that they could aspire to as well. If black people do not patronize black businesses, professionals, and purchase products created and sold by us, it is a false expectation to believe someone else will. Now is the time to support POC  who are children’s book authors and illustrators. If we don’t, neither will mainstream schools, libraries and publishing houses. In turn, we will continue to be inadequately represented in children’s literature, children will not set goals to become writers or artists, and rightfully so because we have proven time and time again that there is no market for books created by and about our children.

Available December 2014

Most African American children’s books are not cross cultural. There are basically three genres -historical books set in slavery, Jim Crow and the Civil Rights era; books based on historical figures as children, i.e., Malcom X, Michael Jordan, Barack Obama; and books specific to ethnicity, i.e., hair texture, skin color, Kwanzaa, and African cultural influences. I love these books because they are necessary for enlightening and uplifting new gerations. It is important that we know our history, embrace our uniqueness and celebrate our heroes; however, there is no expectation that other races would find these books as interesting as we might. Suppose you went to a book store and you had four children’s books to choose from. One was set in a Japanese internment camp, one celebrated Asian beauty; one was about a young George Ariyoshi. Finally the fourth book was about a boy and his dog and the kid happened to be of Asian descent. Which book would you purchase for your classroom or take home to your kids? Niche books are great for a particular lesson plan, time of the year, or if you specifically want to celebrate a particular feature unique to a small part of society. But there is no such thing as niche people. Why do we believe that a book written by a Native American needs to have a character in a headdress, or a book about Hispanics should have the word “fiesta” inside complete with all the colorful celebratory accouterments.  Major Publishing houses should be backing authors of myriad backgrounds with story lines that we all can relate to and stop relegating POC to the “niche” shelf only to be dusted off once a year. The only way to get their attention is by erasing their bottom line. Find and purchase independently published works about ethnic main characters that do not fit in the three genre box and they will begin to take notice, and get on board.

Stephanie Bridges
Author and Advocate for
Diversity in Reading

Major Publishing Houses do not support black, up and coming writers in the children’s book arena. Instead they promote already established, rich and famous people with a built in following and put their money and marketing machines behind them. Queen Latifah, Debbie Allen, Spike Lee and Bill Cosby all have excellent children’s books; however, authoring kids’ manuscripts is not their first calling nor is it bringing a life altering dream to fruition. In other words, their book deals may garner their $5,000,000^th but it is not breaking the poverty barrier for a black starving artist. It is a case of sowing wealth into the wealthy to appease black America and maintain the status quo. The most talented, innovative, imaginative potentially classic work is never read or worse never written because Publishing Companies do not allow unknown black feet in the door. I am not suggesting that you discontinue purchasing children’s books by rich and famous POC. In fact, Ricky Martin has a children's book coming out in November of 2014, and it is probably a great read. But it is just as important if not more that unknown Native American, Latin, Asian and African American writers of kid’s books receive the same opportunity as unknown white authors and famous POC.

In this commentary it is my goal to be as solution oriented as possible, and the solution to this issue is easy. Purchase a children's book that promotes diversity. If you cannot afford to purchase a book at this time, share this blog post with friends and family. If you don't have any young children in your life to share a book with then you can donate it to a church or local charity. A monetary donation to an author and/or illustrator committed to increasing the visibility and availability of diverse books is also welcome. I am one of many. My goal as a children's book author is to create excellent stories, collaborate with exceptional artists, and donate books to children in need. You can make a donation to this effort or purchase "If I Were Part of the Animal Kingdom" by clicking the link below. 

Purchase "If I Were Part of the Animal Kingdom"

Mother of All Humanity

Harriet Tubman

It isn't easy being the Mother of All Humanity. My blood is liquid empathy because I have been through it all. I have had my future ripped from my bosom only to have the Misses babe latch on for dear life. I have watched my man emasculated, castrated, humiliated, hanged. Oh, please Massa don’t hurt my son – I have bravely borne each child conceived in love and in rape. I have bred, birthed, nursed with no say into what horror my spring would be delivered. I know rocking and wailing and wishing for death.  I have the Faith of a mustard seed staid in my Spirit. It tells Joy and Hope not to abandon my Soul.

Ida B. Wells

While I encourage my husband, brother, son and father to fight in war – soldier up for a nation that spits in his face, calls him nigger, puts him on the front line and denies him opportunity, if survival is his to be known; I don’t do it for us. For us, emancipation is just a big word. I do it for the future, my future dispersed – my country. I know you do not believe this is my country. But today I declare it. I am American. I am more American than you. This nation was birthed on my back literally, figuratively and Spiritually. I am the Prayer Warrior that keeps you. And before you can wash your hands clean. I am African. Black and deep and resilient. So bright I swallow the sun and mere mortals can’t see my shine. I may never step foot on my native land, or speak her tongue, or feel her warmth but I am she.  I am all of humanity, and empathy catches in my throat and streams down my face wondering why compassion had to die.

Mary McLeod Bethune

Shirley Chisholm

Wondering why I have to count marbles, and recite preambles in order for my voice to be counted. Wondering why I have to go through the door in the back, sit in the back, and just back back when my presence is your nuisance. Wondering why my face can’t represent my song, why my invention garners no dollar in my favor. I wonder why I am invisible. So, I march and boycott and sit in. I get arrested, hosed and bitten. I makeshift my own college, business, pageant, and magazine still based on your model and standard so my esteem can only go but so high. My towns beautiful and bright you incinerate out of pure unadulterated hate. And you wonder why there are black schools, fraternities, sororities, panthers, churches and NAACPs.

Maya Angelou

Nina Simone

Now we’re uppity and it’s not fair that Black Girls Rock. Oh, poor Becky. I still ride with you and your fight for equality. You conflate your struggle to own land, vote, choose and be compensated with mine. Even though your husband, brother, son and father have everything necessary to keep you on high and mine has none; so he too, turns to you for a giggle.  I ride with you because each step you take I lead the way and I raised you while your mother hosted polite society and swooned in the garden that I toiled. I ride, we ride, and I will pat your tears and sing your praises whenever your turn comes before mine to preside in the highest office.

Angela Davis

I am the Mother of all Humanity, so I wait for the prison gates to swing wide and free black bodies carrying the guilt of being black bodies thanks to men in black bodies who wonder. Wonder why people fight so hard for others to remain sick. Wonder why people fight so hard for others to remain poor. Wonder why people fight so hard for others to remain in the shadows. Wonder why people fight so hard for others to remain apart. Wonder why our mere desire for freedom gnaws at your traveling carnival pursuit of cannibalistic liberty. But I already know the answer. It is precisely because I Am the Mother of All Humanity. 

Oprah Winfrey