Are You Still Here?

Hello Meltingpot Readers,

I know it's been a while, like almost six years, but I'm just popping up here to see if anyone is still visiting these pages. If so, I'd like to invite you to the latest incarnation of MyAmericanmeltingpot over on wordpress. I've just relaunched The Meltingpot after an 18-month hiatus and I hope you'll come check it out. There's more meltingpot stories, more inspiration and more me. I'm still writing about pop culture, parenting and identity politics and I'm still trying to make the world a better place.  I'd love for you to join me.

Peace + Hair Grease

Ms. Meltingpot

The Meltingpot Has Moved

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

It's official, we have moved locations. The Meltingpot has a new address. Actually it's the same URL, MyAmericanMeltingpot.com, but if you subscribed to this location with the blogger host, you'll need to re-subscribe. Can you please do that for Ms. Meltingpot? I would so appreciate it.

And in the meantime, let me know what you think of the new look.

Peace!

Babygirl is Bilingual! and Goodbye...for Now

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

I woke up this morning with babygirl by my side as usual. And as usual, we went through our regular morning snuggle routine which includes me asking babygirl to point to her nose, eyes, mouth and ears. Usually this game means I take babygirl's hand and guide her to the different parts of her face. Then she  responds by grabbing a handful of my face, usually my lips, and tries like the devil to pull them off. This is followed by uproarious laughter. Hers, not mine. I know, sounds delightful, but I just assume one day babygirl will reward me by actually pointing to her nose herself.

Well, Meltingpot readers, today was that day!

Preparing for my usual lip twist, babygirl shocked the sugar out of me when she very deliberately pointed to her nose when I asked, "Where's your nose?" I then scared the sugar out of her when I  screamed squealed in delight. Now,  el esposo was close by. And since he believes I carried babygirl for nine months and birthed her without the use of pain reducing drugs for his sole pleasure, he had to show me that babygirl could do the same in Spanish. "Donde esta la narîz? he asked sweetly. And wouldn't you know it, babygirl pointed right to her nose.

And there you have it. At exactly one year, babygirl has proven to us that she is bilingual. El esposo and I are so proud :)

And now to totally switch gears and to explain the 'Goodbye' in the headline. Don't worry dear readers, Ms. Meltingpot is not going anywhere for good. I'm simply taking a short hiatus while I upgrade the Meltingpot. My goal is to have the new & improved Meltingpot ready to debut in time for the BlogHer2012  conference, which I will be attending in New York City. (Will any of you be there? I'd love to meet you in person.)

So, feel free to check out the archives if you really want to read more Meltingpot entries. Or feel free to follow me on Twitter @LoriTharps. And be sure to check back on Monday, August 6 for the big reveal.

Thanks for sticking with me here on The Meltingpot and by all means, if there's something you'd like to hear more or less about here as I revamp, please leave me a message in the comments section.

I appreciate you all.

Peace!

They Don't Make 'Em Like That Anymore: RIP Sherman Hemsley

Hello Meltingpot Readers,

I am very sad to report that the man who will always be remembered as George Jefferson, aka Sherman Hemsely, died yesterday. He was only 74 years old. I just found out that Hemsely was a Philadelphia native, so the Philadelphia Inquirer posted a great article covering his childhood in South Philly, his early career and rise to fame.

I don't know about you, but The Jefferesons was one of my favorite shows to watch as a child. And as I reflect on it now, I am amazed at just how good it was. Even the theme song was the bomb. (Yeah, we're movin' on up...)

I mean here was a 1970s sitcom that revolved around a proud Black businessman who was openly hostile to White people, was rude to the help and was vocal about his beliefs that Black was always better. And he was damn funny. Sidekicks on the show included a bumbling white British neighbor, an interracial couple and a sassy maid. Can you imagine if somebody pitched that concept in Hollywood today? Nobody would touch it. Yet, twenty years ago, The Jeffersons was one of the most popular shows in prime time. Why is that? Why have we regressed in our ability to push the envelope, feature multiracial casts and perhaps explore some newsworthy issues with our television programing? Pardon my pom poms but, Come on People! Can't we do better?

What happened in the 90s that made television so reductive and stupid? If you have the answer, please speak up. I want to know.

You know I'm listening. And here's something for you to listen to while you ponder the problem. Enjoy.


Peace!

Babygirl's Birth Story: One Year Later

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

I can not believe that it has been an entire year since babygirl joined our family. But it's true.

One year ago today, it was the hottest day on record here in Philadelphia. I was 37 weeks pregnant and we didn't have (still don't) air conditioning in our house. So, we decided to spend the day in public spaces with lots of free air conditioning. Our first stop was the Franklin Institute, which is Philadelphia's awesome science museum. We're members, so we felt completely okay hanging out there for close to eight hours letting our boys basically treat the place as their very own indoor playground while I rested my cumbersome body on any, and every available bench.

After the museum, we were hungry, but it was still daylight so we couldn't go home. Instead, we went to Bobby's Burger Palace and gorged on burgers, fries and the most sinfully delicious pistachio milkshakes. After that, there was still a shred of sunlight and the heat was still unbearable, so I suggested we go grocery shopping before rolling on home. Grocery stores are delightfully chilly.

By the time we made it home, the sun had finally set and the heat in our house was tolerable. El esposo didn't really care though, because he had a date with my brother. The two of them had been waiting for months to attend a soccer game between Real Madrid and Philadelphia's home team. It was just an exhibition game, but still, el esposo rarely gets to see his home team play live, so he was chomping at the bit to drop me and the kids off so he could leave already. Of course, just as he was about to walk out the door, my water broke. Or at least something happened that involved a mysterious wetness where wetness shouldn't be. I wasn't 100 percent sure and I knew how much el esposo wanted to see that game, so I didn't tell him.

I just suggested he keep his phone handy in case 'something came up.' Am I crazy, dear readers? Yes. As it turns out, my water had broken, but it took me another hour, three unreturned phone calls to my doctor, one long conversation with my mother and a google search on the Internet to determine it to be so. And you'd think with this being baby number three, I could tell if my water broke or not, but it was just so different. With the other two, the water breaking was an unmistakeable cannonball splash of water. Babygirl was a different story. Just a tiny trickle. So delicate. So feminine.

But back to the drama. Once I realized my water had indeed broken, I called my cousin, who was my back-up birth partner, to come pick me up. Only she wasn't home. She was out shopping. But she managed to make it to my house in record time, collected me and the boys and we were out the door in no time. We dropped my kids off at my sister's house en route to the hospital and then gunned it the rest of the way. I wasn't in any kind of pain, but I was terrified that I'd have a super speedy labor and have to give birth in the back seat of my cousin's Toyota.

But I didn't. I made it to the hospital and managed to joke my way through intake. My spirits were pretty high because there was air conditioning in the hospital. Really good, strong, air conditioning. Ha! I outsmarted mother nature. Then came the labor pains, brought on by that delicious hamburger I had eaten earlier. Sweet baby Jesus, Meltingpot, Readers. I vowed to never eat a hamburger again. Before giving birth to my babygirl, I had to give birth to that burger. Sorry, that was probably too much information. But needless to say, it was on.

Of course I called el esposo to tell him what was happening. Actually, my cousin called him for me. I felt horrible that he was going to miss his game. But, I figured the birth of his daughter would make up for it. Apparently, he didn't quite feel the same way. My darling husband decided to stay for the first half of the game before coming to the hospital. He figured he'd make it before any of the good stuff started happening. While I'd like to be mad at him for choosing soccer over his daughter, he was right.

By the time el esposo made it to my room, I was no longer able to smile and joke with my cousin or the nice nurse who was trying to get me hooked up to all of the bells and whistles and machines required for a hospital birth. She was shocked but encouraging when I said I wasn't interested in an epidural. I was ready with my pseudo-self hypnosis plan, my ipod full of inspirational music and my ear phones. El esposo ran into the room and I gave him a thumbs up. I had promised I was going to handle this labor without going psycho like I did with my boys. And I did. I 'relaxed' through the pain and kept my focus on finally seeing my daughter's face. I was as cool as a cucumber, up until the pushing part.

Somebody once described giving birth to a baby as something akin to pushing a bowling ball engulfed in flames through your lady parts and I'd have to agree. So, at that point in the process, I screamed like a fool. El esposo left the room. My cousin talked me down from the rooftop of hysteria where I'd landed. The doctors gave me a stern talking to and told me to calm down and push the baby out already. I hate being patronized and yelled at, so just out of spite, I got babygirl out with three good pushes. Total labor time, three hours.

Babygirl weighed just six pounds and a wee bit at birth. She had a head full of black shiny hair and grayish black eyes. She was precious then and she's just as precious now. But she's not a wee thing any more. She's juicy and delicious and full of baby love. She loves to crawl, is enchanted by her two older brothers and has not a single tooth. Happy Birthday, babygirl!

Do you have a hilarious birth story? Let's hear it. I'm so listening.

Peace!

"Asian Soul Food?" Yes, Please!

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

If there's two things I love in this life it's food and Asian people. Seriously. It seems in every major time period of my life, I've always had a really good Asian friend. In childhood, my best friend was Japanese. In high school, I hung with some cool Filipinos. In college, seriously, all of my friends were Asian; Korean, Thai, Indian, Japanese. In my twenties, I bonded with a way cool Chinese chick. And you might know if you read this blog enough, that I have a serious crush on the coolest Asian dude on the planet, Kip Fulbeck.

And it goes without saying, that I love food. I love eating my way through different cultures. If I can't travel, I can still sample the flavors of other worlds and I love that. So, imagine my utter delight at discovering Roy Choi and his Korean tacos. Sadly, I haven't tasted his food, only read about it, but then I found out that Choi is not alone in creating his meltingpot medley of Korean and Mexican cuisine. Check out this article in the Atlantic and try not to cry and have your mouth water at the same time.

" Choi is part of a tsunami of rule-breaking Asian American chefs who have created a new genre of cooking in America: a robust and astonishingly creative blend that draws on Asian, Latin, and Southern foods. Its growing ranks of practitioners bring sterling chef credentials and modernist cooking techniques to bear on the foods of their forebears.

What they're making is not just "modernist" Asian cuisine. It's a type of cooking that has filtered through the multiethnic influences of their upbringings: taco stands, fast food joints, barbecue shacks, hip hop, and graffiti. Theirs is not the "fusion" cooking of the late '70s and '80's, effete creations of European-trained masters who melded cultures with delicacy and nuance. Nor is it the cooking of Nobu Matsuhisa or Martin Yan, talented newcomers who tutored America in Asian ingredients and flavor combinations. This new wave of chefs is dishing up what I call Asian Soul Food: a gutsy, high-low mash up of street food and haute cuisine, old country flavors and new-fangled cooking techniques."

The story of the food and the way it came to be is a meltingpot masterpiece, don't you think? I love how food can be the connector between cultures. I love how these warring cultures on the streets have found a way to cozy up on the plate. It gives me hope. And a hunkering for a taco. Get me to Los Angeles, please. 

What's your favorite culinary mash up dish? Kinky gazpacho perhaps? I'm kidding. But, really. I'm listening.

Peace!

Much Ado About Spanking

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

Have you been following the latest news stories about spanking causing mental illness? I've seen links to the story all over the Internet, on Twitter and facebook. I wanted to ignore it because it seems like every year there is a new study that tries to definitively declare that spanking is bad. Or good. And of course, that definitive answer is always debunked and debated until the next study comes out. (By the way, the study that says spanking causes mental illness is very misleading. Read this article to understand why.)

I have never wanted to out myself as a spanker. But, there I just said it. I have spanked my boys. I don't spank on the regular or very often. I'm kind of a spanker as a last resort. In fact, before my first son was born, I swore I'd never lay a hand on my children. I even wrote a story about the dangers of spanking for Essence magazine and believed every word I wrote. But then my boys stopped being adorable little babies, and spanking joined my toolbox of discipline tactics. You can stop reading right here if the idea of Ms. Meltingpot spanking is too distasteful. I apologize. But I think we should talk about this out in the open.

This is such a difficult topic to discuss. And it is so fraught with race, class and culture issues. I think many people believe spanking is an evil confined to the poor and colored communities. But we all know this is not true, especially if 50 percent of Americans admit to spanking their children sometimes. But there is a difference between spanking and abuse. But the problem is trying to legislate  the difference and then implementing those rules. Many countries, 32 in fact, have outlawed spanking, including Spain, Israel and Sweden. But, I can attest to the fact that I have seen many Spanish mothers beating their kids with a bedroom slipper, so the laws may be in name only. El esposo tells me his mother slapped her three boys whenever they got out of hand as did many of his friends' parents, and hair pulling was another favorite method of discipline.

El esposo doesn't spank our children. He won't. But he's good for a hair pull to keep them in line. I think hair pulling is crazy. He thinks spanking is ridiculous. Our kids dislike both methods, but, that's the point. And here's my point. Can't good parents choose their own methods of discipline? The ones that work best for them and their children? Spanking has been used since the beginning of human existence to deter bad behavior. I hate to use the "I was spanked and I turned out okay," logic, but if you use that to consider how many generations of folks have been spanked the world over and humankind is still churning, that says something right?

Make no mistake. I don't endorse spanking. I don't like spanking. I don't think it should be used in most situations. I just think people shouldn't feel like their going to make their kids grow up to be bi-polar or sociopath killers if they choose to spank. Discipline is one of the hardest parts of parenting. And it's one of the things many parents aren't willing to put the time and energy into, because it is so hard and so unpleasant. Perhaps if we could speak more openly about our trials and tribulations with discipline we might discover better ways than spanking to keep our kids on the right track.

What do you do about discipline in your homes? Time outs? Taking away toys? Grounding? Spanking? I'm so listening and taking notes.

Peace!

The Other Mothers of Manhattan

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

Boy, did the cover image on yesterday's New York Times magazine take my breath away. The cover line reads, "The Other Mothers of Manhattan." It is a photo essay of Manhattan's nannies. It is the real-life version of my novel, Substitute Me. The accompanying essay is by Mona Simpson and it is hauntingly familiar, all of the issues it raises. But the best part is this audio slide show. Check it out and let me know what thoughts come to mind.

I know I too hate the word nanny. It sounds so elitist and not a word I am comfortable using. And yet to call a grown woman a babysitter doesn't sit well either. What do you call your child's caregiver? What do you think of this story?

I'm listening.

Peace!

Abraham Lincoln, Harriet Tubman & Vampires

Hello Meltingpot Readers,

Am I the only one who just heard about the film, Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter? People, I just saw the book in the bookstore the other day and then, come to find out that the Tim Burton produced film hit movie theaters last month!

Where have I been?

Okay, maybe I did hear about it, but promptly shelved it with the 'ridiculous things that I don't understand' section of nonsense in my brain.

But then a couple of days ago, I noticed an ongoing conversation in the Black Twitterverse about a bi-racial actress named Jaqueline Fleming, playing Harriet Tubman in the film. So, I felt compelled to investigate.

Let me begin by saying that once I got the gist of the book's (and movie's ) premise -- slave owners in the United States were really vampires and our muscular 16th president was uniquely qualified to annihilate them -- I was intrigued. To me it sounded like the type of bloody, violent, revenge fantasy story for Black people that Inglorious Basterds was for Jewish people. Here's an article from the Daily Beast that explores the positive of the book's conceit.

But, of course the movie couldn't measure up to the book's aspirations. In fact, the film apparently was pretty tepid and the filmmakers shied away from any kind of potentially powerful message. But don't take my word for it, since I didn't even see the film. Read what Entertainment Weekly film critic, Lisa Schwarzbaum had to say.

So, from here, do we really care that Harriet Tubman, who appears in only a couple of scenes in this reportedly lackluster production, has literally been whitewashed? Some people really do. Over on Madam Noire they explain why.

In my opinion, the very idea that Harriet Tubman be cast as bi-racial with light skin and European features is more preposterous than portraying Abraham Lincoln as a vampire slayer. I mean, Harriet Tubman was Harriet Tubman because she was dark and African looking. Her color and her looks informed her destiny in life. That's not true for all people. Some people's destiny is forged, despite their looks. But for Tubamn, that wasn't the case. Colorism or a system of pigmentocracy was very much in place in antebellum America. And though often unspoken, still is today.

So, do we protest the film? Do we rally the troops? I'm going to pass. Why? Because this film is clearly so bad, nobody is going to watch it anyway. And Harriet Tubman is hardly in it. Why bring more press to a bad film? In the meantime, I'd rather work on my next book which is going to explore these issue of color and colorism in a way that hopefully will bring more attention -- and hopefully healing -- to the topic than a vampire slaying president ever could.

Just wondering. Have any of you seen the film or read the book? What did you think?

Peace!

And The Winners Are for the Fela! Tix

Hello Meltingpot Readers,

I'm posting bright and early this Thursday morning to announce the winners of the free tickets to see Fela! on Broadway, next Tuesday night at 8 pm. So without further ado, the winners are:

1. Jackikay
2. Ms. "Unknown" Commenter #2 on Monday's post.
3. Hadiyyah
4. The Golden Papaya
5. Sharontina

Congratulations to you all! I hope you love the show. Now, here's what you have to do to get your two free tickets. Send me an email at myamericanmeltingpot@gmail.com with your real name and an email address where your tickets can be sent. You will be able to print out your tickets and take them to the show for entry on Tuesday. But you must send me your emails by end of day today or else I will pass the tickets on to someone else. And people, if you know you can't make it to Tuesday's show, please let me know so I can give those tickets to another reader. Thank you all and congrats again.

Peace!

Fela! on Broadway: Vibrant and Thrilling

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

I know you're dying to know. How was Fela! on Broadway? People, it was AMAZING. I laughed. I cried. I danced. I fell in love with the music.

Even if you don't win a free pair of tickets from me, I encourage everyone to go see Fela! on Broadway before it closes on August 4, 2012.

The reviewers haven't lied. The show is vibrant and thrilling. At one point, before the second act even, the entire audience was on their feet, dancing and singing with the actors on stage. If you love world music, a good story, and fabulous dancing, Fela! will satisfy.

But here's why I LOVED the show so much. Fela Kuti has a truly fascinating and important life story. His contribution to music, politics, civil rights and the Black aesthetic is so huge, I can't believe more people, myself included, don't include him in the same conversations with Malcolm X, Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr. He used his art as protest. But make no mistake, he was an innovative and groundbreaking musician first. Clearly the show on Broadway didn't get into all of the controversy of Fela Kuti's life, after all, it's about entertainment first, but nonetheless, they give you enough information to make you want to know more. To come home and find out for yourself who the man behind the music really was.

The other reason I loved the show was that there were just so many beautiful Black people on the stage.  The African aesthetic was on full display, from the brilliant costumes, to the set design, to the AWESOME hairstyles. Afros, dreds, braids, oh my! It made my heart sing.

So, dear readers, you have until midnight tonight to leave a comment on Monday's post to be entered in the drawing. Five lucky readers will win a pair of tickets for next Tuesday's show.

Good Luck!

Peace!

FELA! Back on Broadway: Free Tickets for Meltingpot Readers!

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

Today is your lucky day and mine. First, let's get it straight that Ms. Meltingpot loves a good Broadway show. After all, she named babygirl after her favorite character from the great White Way and though I've never really talked about it here, briefly entertained  the idea of a career as a great stage performer. Musical comedy was going to be my thing. But, alas, Ms. Meltingpot cannot sing worth a lick.

So, instead, I just enjoy as many shows as I can...and pray one of my children will have a voice that can take him all the way to Broadway. I'm kidding. Sort of.  But I'm getting so far away from the point. And the point is, tonight I'm going to see FELA! on Broadway! Yes, I mean the 2010 Tony-award winning show about the Nigerian musical genius and political activist, Fela Kuti. Yes, the one produced by Jay-Z, Will and Jada Pinket-Smith, and Ahmir 'Questlove' Thompson from the Roots. Yes, the one that is back on Broadway for only six-weeks. Yours truly is going tonight.

And here's the thing. While I can enjoy most any good song and dance, coupled with an overly dramatic story line, I obviously have a soft spot for a show with a Meltingpot sensibility. Check out the following description of Fela! from Down Beat magazine and tell me this doesn't have Meltingpot written all over it.

" In addition to being visually and musically explosive, “Fela!” elucidates Kuti's politics and run-ins with the law. It contextualizes his convictions in relation to U.S. civil rights activism and illuminates African religion and culture. It also demonstrates how African rhythms, calypso, James Brown, John Coltrane, Chano Pozo and Martin Luther King Jr. all informed both his music and political stance."


I am so excited. And the thrill isn't only mine. I have five pairs of tickets for the 8pm evening show on July 17 to give away to you, my dear readers! If you want to see Fela! on Broadway for free, all you have to do is leave a comment here and tell me why you want to see the show. I will randomly draw five names on Wednesday (July 11) night at midnight. Winners will be posted on Thursday (July 12) morning. So check back on Thursday to see if you won and to collect your tix.


Here's a preview of Fela!



Be inspired.


Peace!

Stumbled Upon: YA Novel, Kimchi & Calamari

Hello Meltingpot Readers,

So, all of my loyal readers know that I practically live at the library. In the summer it's no different, except I usually haul my kids with me on my visits. They love the library too. When we go, they immediately run off to read graphic novels and other things I usually won't buy for them. And they're perfectly cool with me picking out their books for the week. I don't know how long this is going to last but for now it works for me.

So, this summer I've been trying to get my sci-fi loving 11-year-old to read more realistic fiction. I still try to find stories that I think will speak to him as a 11-year-old boy who likes sci-fi and fantasy. So, for example, last week he read The Orphan of Ellis Island, about an orphaned Italian-American boy who falls through a time portal and goes back in time and meets his Italian ancestors. He loved it. Yes! Yesterday, I stumbled upon a book called Kimchi & Calamari. You know with just that title, I was intrigued.

Sure enough, the book is about a Korean boy adopted by an Italian-American family. The boy in the story is 14 years old and dealing with typical teen boy stuff, plus he's dealing with identity issues and a search for a birth parent. Here's a link to a review (cuz I haven't read it yet.) And here's how the author, Rose Kent sells, Kimchi & Calamari:

" Kimchi and calamari is a quirky food fusion — and exactly how fourteen-year-old Joseph Calderaro feels about himself. Why wouldn’t an adopted Korean drummer feel like a combo platter given

1. his face in the mirror and
2. his proud Italian family?

Now Joseph has to write an ancestry essay for school. But all he knows is that his birth family put his diapered butt on a plane to the USA.

What Joseph does leads to a catastrophe messier than a table of shattered dishes — and self-discovery that he never could have imagined."

Sounds good right? It'll be next on the list for my son. And I'll tell you how it goes.

Has anybody else read Kimchi and Calamari? Any thoughts? Any other realistic fiction suggestions for an 11-year old boy with Ms. Meltingpot for a mom? I'm listening.

Peace!

Independence Day, Freedom and One More Black Chef

Hercules
photo by Virginia.org

Happy Fourth of July, Meltingpot Readers!

I don't know about you, but as an adult, the Fourth of July just isn't as much fun as it was when I was a child. Growing up, the 4th was my favorite holiday. We decorated our bikes, participated in the neighborhood parades, played old-fashioned games at the park and ate ice cream. At night, it was a big family bar-b-cue followed by fireworks down by the lake.

Now that we live in Philadelphia, the birthplace of the nation, you'd think the 4th would be an even bigger deal, but somehow the thrill is gone for me. And part of the reason is that when we talk about celebrating our independence, the great hypocrisy of an independent nation with enslaved individuals as the backbone of the country's success, just doesn't sit well with me. What are we truly celebrating?

But, I'm not mad. I love this country and the independent spirit that defines it. And like I always do, I have found the way to honor 'my people' and their unique contributions to independence. So, instead of praising the founding fathers who saw fit to reduce their slaves to less than human status in their declaration of independence, I am celebrating the Black men and women who fought for their own independence, instead of waiting for it.

Since I have Black chefs on the mind and George Washington is kind all over the 4th of July holiday, I'm celebrating the life and courage of Washington's excellent (enslaved) chef, Hercules. Known only by his first name, Hercules ruled the presidential kitchen with an iron skillet, replaced the previous White chef because his culinary skills were just that good, and was a budding entrepreneur who enjoyed a respected status in Free Black society in 18th century Philadelphia. But still, he was slave and that didn't sit well with him. So he planned and executed a flawless escape. He fled on Washington's 65th birthday, never to be heard from again. Now that's freedom and independence I can celebrate. To read more about Hercules, and his culinary genius, check out this link.

And however you celebrate this day, make it a good one! BTW, we're having tacos for dinner before the fireworks. That's the Meltingpot way.

Peace!

Music Monday: French Pop for French Lessons

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

So the push to parlais francais is on. And while I've been watching toddler videos and sometimes switching to the French version on some of my favorite films, I thought about listening to some French music to help me along. Of course I had no idea where to start. And then I remembered.

Way back in the 1980s, somewhere around 1987 I believe, my sister came back from her AFS summer abroad experience in France. I was so in awe. In just three short months she had become totally Frenchified. She ate her French fries with mustard instead of ketchup. She wanted to put raisins in the chicken! And the music. My sis brought back a handful of vinyl records that she played over and over again in her room, while I listened just outside her door. I couldn't understand a single word, yet I fell in love with the music anyway. When she told me that the young singer, Daniel Balavoine had died tragically in a helicopter crash, I was even more impressed. French music. Tragic death. Romance and Drama? As a 13-year-old girl in suburban Milwaukee, wanting to escape her hum-drum existence, Daniel Balavoine gave me a reason to believe.

Here's a song that I used to sing. I could sing this entire song phonetically but had no idea what I was saying. I never saw the video. So, here it is. If anyone would be so kind and tell me what the song is about, I sure would appreciate it. Sadly, my French skills, still aren't that great. Merci!

"Not the Nanny" Syndrome Doesn't Discriminate

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

Recently, a lovely journalist from TODAY Moms interviewed me about what I call the "Not the nanny" syndrome. You know, that irritating situation when people mistake you for your child's caregiver because you might be of color and your baby looks kind of White? I know it happens all the time to Black girls like me who procreated across the color line and managed to spit out babies lacking in melanin. But it also happens to Latina women, Asian women and even White women.

I met a White woman recently who was married to a Filipino man. Her two children look more Asian than White. She told me that, while breast feeding, someone  asked her if she was the nanny?! So, my dear readers, apparently the syndrome doesn't discriminate.

Get a group of women together who have children that don't look like them and we can tell all kinds of hilarious stories, besting one another with the more outrageous comments people have thrown our way. And truth be told, sometimes they are funny. But a lot of times, those comments hurt. They hurt in a way I never expected. It's not because I feel so insulted to be mistaken for a nanny. And it's not even because I think people are being small-minded or insensitive by questioning my child's parentage. At the end of the day, it hurts because there's something visceral, I think, about wanting to see something of yourself in your offspring. It's that simple and that complicated.

I have never been told, 'gee your kids look just like you.' And it's not something I ever dreamed about hearing either. I'd rather hear, 'gee your kids sure are smart/talented/healthy.' But to be told over and over, your kids look nothing like you? Aye, there's the rub. What's more, I think that for women of color to be mistaken for the nanny, the underlying insult comes not from being mistaken for a domestic worker, but for not be respected enough to be mistaken for the mother. Ya dig?

Let's be clear though. The "I'm Not the Nanny"syndrome doesn't keep me up at night. I don't wring my hands in agony over the injustice of my kids looking more like their pale-face papa than me. In fact, until someone throws it in my face, I'm not thinking about it all. It's just another one of those fascinating Meltingpot moments that I think so many of us can relate to and perhaps help each other through.

What do you think? Is there more to the Not the Nanny syndrome? Is it something more people should be aware of? Is there a cure?

I'm listening.

Peace!

Black Chefs Rising: Food for Thought

Hello Meltingpot Readers,

I just wrote a story for TheGrio.com on rising culinary star, Nilton Borges, Jr. He's an Afro-Brazilian (which I know can be viewed as redundant) who is making his mark as the executive chef at Amali Restaurant in New York City. Amali is a Mediteranean restaurant, specializing in seasonal, local fare.

I really enjoyed talking to Borges because his 'son of a Black doctor in Brazil with pressure to follow in his father's footsteps, to restaurant worker in the United States' story was fascinating. And familiar. Borges said he had two hurdles to being accepted in fine dining kitchens here in the US, being Black and an immigrant. Please check out the story and leave a comment if you feel so inclined.

And speaking of Black chefs. Did everybody pick up their copy of Marcus Samuelsson's new memoir, Yes, Chef. Finally, we hear the details to his amazing life story from Ethiopia to Sweden to New York City and back again. Samuelsson says his whole life has been about 'chasing flavors.' Sometimes I feel the same way.

Case in point, for my mother's birthday, I prepared a dinner that brought together all of the flavors of my past; Moroccan chicken, rice salad with avocado and oranges, green beans with toasted almonds and a banana pudding with 'Nilla wafers for dessert. Kinky Gazpacho all the way.

Where would you have to go to chase the flavors of your past?

I'm listening.

Peace!

And We're Back...

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

Pardon me for disappearing on ya'll for an entire week. Ms. Meltingpot seriously got sucked into a Southern way of life. I blame it on the heat and the sweet tea and the fried fish galore. I just never managed to even turn on my computer. I kept saying, oh, I can't wait to blog about this or that and then, faster than you can say 'kiss my grits,' it was time to pack up and come home.

Seriously.

Suffice it to say, dear readers, I'm back. I'm relaxed and refreshed and ready to jump back into reporting on the Meltingpot experience. Thanks for sticking around.

I did take this one picture in the bathroom of a tiny cafe we stopped in for lunch, thinking of all of you. It made me think, yeah, I can take a break from the news for just a little bit. Enjoy!

It's Still a Yankee Paper To Us

Whistling Dixie: Ms. Meltingpot is Heading South

Hello Meltingpot Readers,

Ms. Meltingpot is packing up and heading south. Not forever, just for a little respite to officially welcome in the summer. I'm visiting my folks -- who in a fit of madness moved below the Mason Dixie line -- and plan to while away the hours sipping sweet tea, writing and dipping my newly painted toenails into the salty sea water of the Atlantic ocean.

That is my plan. What will probably happen is that I'll be trying to keep my boys from driving me crazy, extracting sand from babygirl's mouth and praying that everyone under age 12 will fall asleep before the sun goes down.

So, stay tuned for my southern tales of adventure, all next week here on the Meltingpot.

Peace!

Happy Loving Day! A Day Late...

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

Yesterday was Loving Day. Did you remember to celebrate? I kind of forgot. But just like I feel like every day is Martin Luther King, Jr. day when you're Black in America, every day is Loving Day when you're a Black woman, married to a Spanish man and you have three brownish kids. I mean, we celebrate interracial marriage being legal every morning we wake up in the same bed together. Ya dig?

That being said, there are some things I would like to do in honor of the great sacrifice Mildred and Richard Loving did in order to have their marriage recognized by their home state of Virginia. Namely, I'd like to fly my entire Kinky Gazpacho family to the Mixed Roots Film and Literary Festival this weekend in Los Angeles. But it ain't gonna happen, because we just don't have the funds this year. (sigh) But we'll get there hopefully next year.

I'd also like to get a chance to see the new documentary about the Lovings, The Loving Story. It's being screened at Mixed Roots, but you already know, I won't be there. (bigger sigh). Here's the trailer.



I'm not sure when I'll be able to see the film, so in the meantime, to satisfy my Loving Day wanderlust, I'll probably just troll the internet and look for all of the slideshows that feature 'our favorite celebrity interracial couples.' I admit, it's a guilty pleasure. But one I really only indulge in, on Loving Day. I swear.

Okay, dear readers. Did you do anything to celebrate Loving Day? Are you going to? Let's hear it. You know I'm listening.

Peace!