This just in--Mommy's Hair looks like "Black Broccoli"

Black hair 101 isn't being taught in America's pre-schools apparently. Today I dropped my four-year old off at school, just like any other day. Except that last night I went to the hair salon and had my dredlocks pinned up in a crown-like arrangement on top of my head for an event I'm going to tonight. I thought I looked a bit like Cleopatra, or perhaps more like Frida Kahlo, but the (mostly White) children in my son's class didn't agree. (That's not me in the picture, but it's a close approximation of what my hair looks like right now.)

"You're hair looks different," one child announced when I entered the classroom. And I do admit, it's a big change from my usual unkempt free-flowing locks. "I don't like it," another girl said. "Change it back." And then it was like I was an open target. One girl shouted, "your hair looks gross." And then another little boy screwed up his face in concentration as he tried to tell me what my hair looked like. And then he got it. "Your hair looks like black broccoli." I had to laugh at that. Meanwhile the teachers were trying to tell the children to stop insulting my hair. And my poor son, started yelling at his classmates to stoop teasing his mommy. Wow! I've talked about hair issues ad nauseum but this situation caught me off guard.

In a flash I realized that these children were seeing something new and speaking from a place of honesty. (Except for the girl who said my hair was gross who is just a wise-ass in general with a lot of other serious problems.) So I told them I loved my hair, and I love broccoli. I told them I ate broccoli the night before and maybe that's why my hair looks like broccoli. And then I asked them what vegetable their own hair looked like. My son calmed down when he saw that I wasn't hurt by the comments, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't. Even innocent little children (Mind you the two other Black kids in the class were looking horrified at the comments flying out of their classmates' mouths. Like they knew, even at age four, you don't talk about a Black woman's hair!) have the power to wound when it comes to Black hair.

So do you think I handled the situation the right way? Should I sign up to give a talk about Black hair to my son's class? Is this an issue about lack of exposure or if I were a White woman with a broccoli hair style, would I have been subjected to the same treatment? I don't know. What do you think?

What is White America Eating?

There are jokes amongst colored people about White people's cuisine. That White people don't know how to really cook, that they are the consumers of all that packaged food filling grocery store shelves. But of course they're just jokes, or so I thought.

I recently picked a copy ofShauna James Ahern's delicious memoir, Gluten-free Girl and came across this passage about the food she ate growing up in the 70s and 80s:

"We ate what [my mother] thought the rest of the country did. ...She cooked breaded and fried food. We ate our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on bleached white bread. Day-Glo orange macaroni and cheese out of a box. Green beans from a can, clotted with cream of mushroom soup and crusted with fried onions."

Did you eat like that? Is that a cultural thing, because Ahern seems to imply that everyone (and though she doesn't say so specifically, 'everyone' means White Americans) in America was eating like that. From personal experience, I can only say that I never ate a piece of Wonder Bread in my life, even before the whole grain revolution took hold. And my mom made the macaroni and cheese from scratch. I remember the first time I tasted Kraft Mac & Cheese from a box at a friend's house (yes, she was White) and almost cried knowing I had to eat it or risk being rude. But that's just me. Maybe we were the odd ones out.

It's hard to say if White-American cuisine truly exists because in every region of the country people eat different things, like White people in Wisconsin (and Black people too, let's be honest) hanker for good bratwurst and kringle. But there is probably some common denominator, right? Or maybe not? Ahern seems to think so though.

So can anybody define White-American cuisine, without making jokes? Next up for discussion, Black-American cuisine: tastes beyond Big Mama's table.

The Race of my Face(book)

I attended a lecture last night on promotion and publicity tactics for authors and heard a curious fact. Apparently Facebook is considered to be an "overwhelmingly White" social networking site, whereas Myspace caters to a more "ethnic audience." I've just begun to dip my toe into social networking (reluctantly, I might add) and can't believe we've already been divided.

Anybody out there want to confirm the PR expert's analysis?

Peace...

A Secret from the Secret Life of Bees

I went to go see The Secret Life of Bees this weekend with about one gazillion other people. I liked the movie and loved the book. I love the story and the actresses all gave really outstanding performances. I give it two thumbs up just for the fact that the film/book shows an alternative Black American story. There's a line in fact, where the little White girl says something like, "I never met such cultured negro women before." Too true little White girl. I wish more people, Black, White, Red, Brown and Yellow, would realize that there always have been and still are many a "cultured negros" roaming around.

But that's not why I'm writing. During the film, Dakota Fanning's character (she's the young White girl) shares an innocent kiss and some tender moments with a young Black teenager. I was sitting in a packed movie theater with mostly Black people and wouldn't you know, when the kiss happened, you could hear a collective harumph! A sigh of disbelief crossed with anger and a "no he didn't."

Why people? Are we always going to hate on the White woman with the Black man? Will we continue to condemn the Black man who falls for the White woman? Is this post-traumatic slave syndrome rearing it's ugly head or a side effect of the perceived shortage of eligible Black men? I'm asking because I certainly don't have the answers. Here we are in 2008 and we still can't get over this. What are we going to do?

Thoughts? Ideas? Answers? Let's talk amongst ourselves.

Peace!

No, really...

My American Meltingpot looked like this last Saturday.

My family and I went to a Native American pow-wow in West Philly. I love to take my kids to experience different cultural events in ways that are interactive. All in all it was pretty cool. I learned a lot and my kids got to dance the Native American Candy dance. No joke that's what it was called, and yes there was candy involved.

When we left the pow-wow we decided to grab a bite to eat at one of the many ethnic restaurants in the neighborhood. We had our choice of Thai, Mexican, Indian, Middle Eastern and McDonald's. We chose Mexican.

Because we were with my kids, the restaurant was rather tiny and I am on a crazy restrictive diet, I didn't pay too much attention to the menu items as we stood in line. I was just making sure there was something on the menu I could eat, and something my four-year old would eat. In other words, my 'say what?' detector didn't rise at the "tofu taco" choice. When it was my turn to order however, I finally noticed that the young woman taking orders was Asian. I looked behind her to see that the cook was a balding, middle-aged White man and his helper was another Asian woman. So clearly this was not an "authentic" Mexican joint. I considered leaving because I really wanted to enjoy my lunch, but then I remembered that one of the best Mexican franchises in New York City (Fresco Tortillas) is run by Chinese people so I held on to hope. But I shouldn't have. The food wasn't bad, it was just really, really bland and didn't taste very Mexican. And in fact, when I asked for a bit of salsa on the side to liven up my tacos, the girl looked at me like I had asked for a side of motor oil. They didn't have any salsa at this Mexican restaurant. No, really. I was given a small bowl of chopped tomatoes instead.

So, here I am stewing about the lack of authenticity at this restaurant, cursing myself for expecting authentic at a Mexican restaurant with no Mexicans in it, when I heard the following exchange. A White woman goes up to the Asian woman at the counter and says in a very gringo accent, "Yo quiero dos cucharas, por favor." She then turns to my husband who happened to be up at the counter, and says, "I'm practicing my Spanish because I'm getting ready for a trip to Guatemala." The Asian girl behind the counter looks at the woman with a blank stare. The woman then realizes she's made a mistake. Her mistake? She meant to say "tenedores" the Spanish word for forks, instead of cuchara which is spoon. No, really. She didn't notice that the woman in front of her was Asian, not Hispanic and kept trying to use her Spanish to procure her forks.

Finally my husband stepped in, wanting to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, and asked the girl, "Do you speak Spanish?" She said, "no." And funny thing is, the woman didn't seem the least bit embarrassed by her assumption. She just took her forks and said, wait for it, "gracias." This is probably the same woman who mistook me and my best friend, who happens to be Japanese, for twins when we were seven and eight. No, really. That happened.

So, that's what my American Meltingpot looks like.

Kim Wayans Loves Kinky Gazpacho

Okay, I admit this is just shameless self-promotion, but Kim Wayans just sent me an email saying she LOVED Kinky Gazpacho! Let me explain why this means so much to me. 1. I love the entire Wayans family, like they were my own long-lost hilarious cousins. They defined the 90s for me as a budding multiculturalist who yearned to make fun not war between different ethnic groups. 2. Despite my horrific lack of rhythm, I wanted nothing more than to be a Fly Girl, dancing up there on the stage behind Kim and Damon and Keenan. Yeah, me and Jenny from the Block (aka. J.Lo)shaking our groove things. (Obviously didn't happen.) And 3. Kim and her hubby Kevin Knotts are now writing their own multi-culti books. They've penned a delightful series for young readers about a multi-ethnic little girl (She's Black, White, Korean and Japanese) named Amy Hodges, nicknamed, Amy Hodgepodge. So Kim's thumbs up isn't just praise from a famous fan, it means another writer committed to exploring the intimate places of America's meltingpot, likes my book. Yeah for me! Yeah for Kim!


Peace!

Just a Question...About Obama

Really, it's just a question. Do you think if Obama's White mother were alive and out campaigning for her son, it would make any difference in how he was perceived? In our discussions about him being Black or Mixed-Race? In the minds of White people who truly fear a BLACK president?

What do you think?

Peace!

(photo courtesy of Obamamagazine.com)

I don't have cable but...

This weekend I made an appearance at the Circle of Sisters Expo in New York City and had the pleasure of meeting an extraordinary man. None other than crack dealer turned executive chef, turned author, turned savior of lost souls. Yes, for two hours I sat next to Chef Jeff Henderson author of the New York Times bestselling memoir Cooked: From the Streets to the Stove, From Cocaine to Foie Gras (HarperPaperbacks) and a brand new cookbook, Chef Jeff Cooks (Scribner).

Even though Chef Jeff recently inked a deal with Will Smith to bring his unbelievable story to the big screen, he hasn't turned his back on his past. In fact, his brand new TV Food Network show, The Chef Jeff Project is kind of his way of giving back. On the show Mr. Henderson brings six at-risk youth (which means former drug dealers, users and more) into his swanky catering company and tries to give them the same opportunity at redemption that he found himself in the kitchen. All of the contestants, if they finish his grueling 6-weeks of "culinary boot camp," receive a scholarship to a culinary school.

I haven't even seen the first episode of the show and I get all teary eyed just thinking about it. And you know the Meltingpot is all over it because these at-risk youth come in every color of the rainbow proving that bad luck and bad behavior don't discriminate. And likewise, if given a chance at something better, anyone can succeed.

I don't have cable but if I did, I'd be watching The Chef Jeff Project. If you're watching, let me know how it goes. I'm sure it's going to be a hit.

Peace!

I'm not Catholic but...

I love the meltingpot of my life. Without even trying I can't help but discover examples of cultural co-mingling and am always pleased when they intimately resonate with my own life experiences. For example...

The other day I was walking down the street in Chestnut Hill, which is a cute, quasi-suburban neighborhood in Philadelphia. I was running errands on the one commercial street and noticed a flyer announcing a local race for charity. Proceeds for the 5K run will go to support a local school called Saint Martin de Porres. Now I've driven past that school many times and could never recall why the name sounded familiar. But as I continued reading the flyer I knew. I wrote about Saint Martin de Porres in my book, Kinky Gazpacho, because he was one of the Black saints I discovered in a church in the south of Spain. And sure enough, on the flyer there was a picture of a Black saint in a friar's robe and running shoes.

So just for fun, I googled Saint Martin de Porres to find out more about him and it turns out that he is a SpaNegro just like my sons. Born in Lima, Peru in 1579, Martin had a Black mother (Afro-Panamian) and a Spanish father. You can read more about him on his official Catholic website but Wikipedia has a more extensive description of his life and acts of good works. They say this about him:

" [Martin de Porres] work on behalf of the poor was tireless: he established an orphanage and a children's hospital. He maintained an austere lifestyle, which included fasting and forswearing meat. His devotion to prayer was notable even by the pious standards of the age. Among the many miracles attributed to him were those of levitation, bilocation, miraculous knowledge, instantaneous cures and an ability to communicate with animals."


His story is fascinating and I'll definitely be looking out for a good biography about him. If I can't find one, maybe I'll have to write one myself. (Would you read it?) But there's more. I found out that Saint Martin de Porres is also the patron saint of Mixed Race people and barbers. Hello! You couldn't pick two topics more relevant to my life. I'm not Catholic but I think St. Martin de Porres deserves a prominent place in my Kinky Gazpacho home.

Peace!

What Would You Do?

My husband takes his clothes to be dry-cleaned at a neighborhood shop. The owners are Korean and very nice and friendly. After using their services for close to a year my husband confessed to me that he thought the Korean wife, who handles the customers, always made complimentary comments about my younger son, and offered him candy, and ignored my older son. Here's the deal, my younger son is pale with loosely curled hair. My older son's skin is honey brown and tight curls cover his head. They're both beautiful, but you see where I'm heading with this right?

I told my husband he was probably imagining it. That the baby was still a baby and attracted more attention. I guess I didn't want to admit what might be happening. Two years passed and the behavior didn't change, according to my husband. What's worse, my older son started to notice. My husband was enraged (and please note, he's a teacher so he doesn't go to the dry-cleaner all that often) and wanted to say something to the woman, confront her on her preferential treatment, explain the painful legacy of the color complex in the African-American community (yes, my husband is a pale Spaniard). Do something!

I told him that what he should do is stop patronizing this shop, because that would have the greatest effect. Send a message. But maybe I was wrong.

What would you do?

Peace!

Diversity in DC

Shout out to all of the wonderful folks I met yesterday in the nation's capital. I led a workshop called "Writing My Identity" at the All Souls Unitarian Church located in the Columbia Heights/Adams Morgan neighborhood. You didn't have to be a member of the church to take the workshop but the majority of workshop participants were, and what a lovely rainbow bunch of people it was, each with an interesting story to tell. There was the Jamaican woman who had lived many years in Russia, the second generation Chinese woman from San Francisco, the Afro-Cubana who didn't learn the meaning of Black until she moved to the U.S. and the list goes on. It was a treat to be surrounded by so many interesting people eager to talk about my two favorite subjects, writing and identity.

I haven't been in DC in a long while and was pleasantly surprised to see so many different black, white, brown and yellow faces strolling down the same streets, hearing English and Spanish in equal measure. I don't know if that's a rarity viewed only in that particular 'hood or something special is going on in DC. And then to make my Meltingpot juices flow even more, I stepped into the grooviest bookstore/cafe calledBusboys and Poets and wanted to make it my permanent home.

From their website, Busboys and Poets is:
"... a community gathering place. First established in 2005 Busboys and Poets was created by owner Anas "Andy" Shallal, an Iraqi-American artist, activist and restaurateur. After opening, the flagship location at 14th and V Streets, NW (Washington DC), the neighboring residents and the progressive community, embraced Busboys, especially activists opposed to the Iraq War. Busboys and Poets is now located in three distinctive neighborhoods in the Washington Metropolitan area and is a community resource for artists, activists, writers, thinkers and dreamers."

I did a reading there and met dozens of extraordinary, colorful people. There should be a Busboys and Poets in every city to bring the beautiful people together, working to change the world. That's what the energy felt like in there. I didn't want to leave. (sigh)

Of course this was only a small taste of DC, but I'm curious from folks who live there full-time. What's DC like in terms of diversity? Do people of different races often mix and mingle? Where and how?

Peace!

Food for Thought-Pork Rinds & Cheerios?

Pork Rinds and Honey Nut Cheerios. That's what my four-year old son had for breakfast this morning. His choice. In fact, he wanted to put his pork rinds in the Cheerios, but I had to say no. There's only so much mixing of food stuffs that I can allow in my home.

But my son's new-found love of pork rinds got me thinking about the crispy, low-carb snack. As a child, my mom admitted to loving pork rinds, but there was this kind of quiet understanding that they were kind of a ghetto treat. Because, for real, in Milwaukee, where I grew up, you couldn't find pork rinds in the suburbs. You had to go into the city to find a bag. And admitting you actually ate fried pork skin to your non-black friends was about as popular as admitting that you chowed down on pig feet and chitterlings every now and again whenever the whole family got together. Of course, when the Atkins diet introduced the concept of low-carb eating to the general public, the pork rind gained a new kind of respect.

But here's why the pork rind means something special to me, as a member of a SpaNegro household. Black people love pork rinds (come on, we do.) and I just found out through watching a late night documentary on PBS, that it was the Spaniards who invented them! Yes, it was the Spanish people, known for utilizing every single portion of the pig, who introduced air puffed pig skin to the Americas. If you are a native Spanish speaker you don't call them pork rinds of course, but rather, "chicharones." Ah, more Kinky Gazpacho love!

Anybody like their chicharones with hot sauce? I recently picked up a gourmet low-carb cook book and found a recipe for fried chicken coated in crushed pork rinds? I've also tasted pork rinds coated in cinnamon and sugar. Got those at a Mexican bodega. Do you have a favorite pork rinds story or recipe? Please share.

Peace and pig grease!

Black, White, Jewish & Funny

I don't know about you all, but the first person I think of when talking about famous daughters who are Black, White and Jewish, is Rebecca Walker, daughter of scribe, Alice Walker. Probably because Walker's first memoir is actually titled, Black, White and Jewish.

But there is another child with a famous parent, who is also Black, White and Jewish... and she's funny. I'm talking about Rain Pryor, the daughter of comedian Richard Pryor and a Jewish mother. As is expected of Hollywood tots, Rain Pryor penned a tell-all memoir, Jokes My Father Never Taught Me, but it is her award-winning stage show performances where she really explores her mixed heritage. "Fried Chicken & Latkes" was her first show about her childhood and now she's performing, "Pryor Experirence" which kind of picks up where Fried Chicken & Latkes left off. A brief description of the Pryor Experience:

"Rain Pryor [performs] a jazz inspired cabaret featuring her signature comedic interludes. Pryor brings a sharp wit to fundamental questions of race, faith, and identity. Her work draws upon her experience growing up in Beverly Hills as the daughter of a prototypical Jewish mother and the legendary African American comedian Richard Pryor, whose unflinching humor and tumultuous lifestyle brought joy and turmoil to the family. In The Pryor Experience, Rain satirically reworks her take on Jewish and African American culture, while delving more deeply into her relationship with her father and newly born daughter, Lotus Marie."

Rain Pryor will be performing in Philadelphia this weekend (Sat & Sun.)at the Painted Bride Theater. If you can't make it or don't live in the area, check out Pryor's website for her tour schedule.

Peace!