The Latte Cafe

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite times of the year. It calls for decorating your house in warm harvest-inspired earth tones, volunteering or being recruited to make a side dish for the family dinner and finally and cashing in your Christmas Club account (do people have those anymore?) so you can tear up the mall on Black Friday. Don’t forget the most important part of Thanksgiving: starting incendiary conversations at the table. 

For mainstream (i.e. ‘white’) culture, that could mean dropping a load of shocking news at the dinner table (I’m using my Christmas Club money to help fund a gender reassignment surgery, Mom) or starting an argument with your family about your differing political and religious beliefs. (Why shouldn’t I convert to the Jedi faith?) For black families, major holiday dinners are often madcap gatherings, punctuated with liberal helpings of ‘libation’ and raucous rounds of ‘Yo Mama …’ jokes. Not to mention confronting cousin Rolanda about the $200 she owes you after you paid her way in Atlantic city for your other cousin Sheila’s bachelorette party. 

Well, it’s high time that we modernize things. Take a gander at this hilarious clip from the old Ricky Lake Show. On this episode, Ricky discusses interracial dating, from the standpoint of people who are rebelling against family taboos, so that they can date interracially for the first time. Her guest Kai, dares the disapproval of her cousin Kobi, who represents a family that forbids it! Imagine if instead of publicizing her plans on a daytime talk show, Kai dropped the news at Thanksgiving dinner. 

Now readers, if you’ve decided to take the plunge and date interracially and you announce your plans at Thanksgiving dinner — or for bigger fireworks bring the guy home — at least show up with a little something to make the news go down easier.

I found this recipe, tweaked to my liking, in a book titled “Real Taste of Jamaica” by Enid Donaldson.  

CORN PUDDING

3 eggs lightly beaten

2 cups drained and cooked (or caned) whole kernel corn

2 cups milk, scalded

1 tbsp. butter, melted

1/4 cup sugar

1/4 cup flour

1 tsp. salt

1 tsp. nutmeg or cinnamon

Heat oven to 350 F. Combine the eggs, milk, butter and sugar and mix well. Stir in the flour a little at a time, then add the corn. Pour into a 1 1/2 quart casserole dish. Sprinkle on the nutmeg or cinnamon. Bake for 40 to 45 minutes. Test for readiness by inserting a clean knife in the center of the pudding. If it comes out clean, you’re done. Let it bake for another 5 to 10 minutes if it needs more cooking. Let stand for 10 minutes, while the center firms up.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone. Let the onslaught begin!

Every now and then, probably like most of you guys, I patrol the Internet for news, gossip or general jawboning fodder about interracial relationships. A couple of days ago, I came across this funny Web posting about IRs — all of them — from hookups between Caucasian men and Asian women to those between black women and white men. 

Mind you, this list is meant to solicit bawdy, table slapping belly laughs while exposing a few taboo truths about why people cross color lines in the name of love. It’s not a springboard to high-brow, discussions about the ongoing enlightenment of mankind. If your anthropology professor has a crazy sense of humor, then by all means, present it, but I would confine it to study groups and late-night B.S. sessions, otherwise.

Here is a talking point that is sure to spark a lively discussion about couplings between BW/WM:

Obviously, this combination annoys black men and white women the most. Black men are used to being perceived as the only kinda man that can really handle a black woman’s attitude. Little did they realize financial security and/or social status are the keys to keeping Sistas quiet. And white women can’t believe a white man would find a beauty so unlike their won to love (dumb ass b*itches). 

Whoever Trevor Burns is, I appreciate his irreverent take on the issue, because you never know exactly why interracial couples hook up. It would be naive to deny that some individuals, families and cultures welcome dating across racial lines for superficial and mercenary reasons. I know I’m not so blind. Before Hubby and I got married, we used to socialize a bit more with a Belgian friend of his, an investment banker, who unabashedly preferred Asian women. The scene at his loft during dinner parties was a hoot. You couldn’t turn this way or that without running into the ‘John Lennon’ types of couples, and pardon me for being cynical, but it did not escape my notice that many of the men in these relationships were European investment bankers. Or in the case of one particular party guest, a mild-mannered, nerdy American who sought to travel to Thailand in search of what he described as a “sweet and gentle” girlfriend.  And was it me, or did some of these women take a smug attitude and relish their status as exotic arm candy? 

And it’s no secret that some black men prefer to date outside their race because they hold scornful attitudes about black women.  

Human beings sharply contradict themselves when it comes to relationships. On one hand, many people claim to be empowered with absolute veto authority — the power of choice — over every aspect of their lives, but when it comes to relationships they often say that they are helpless as to whom fall in love with. So be it; there is no moral absolute on the issue. If people get into IRs for shallow, shady or mercenary reasons, then they will reap what they sow. At the end of the day, why two people get involved is no one else’s business. Just don’t blame guys like Trevor Burns for making sport of those with unhealthy and bogus motives.

‘Tis the season to be givin’!  Just in time for the main gift-giving season of the year, model mom Garcelle Beauvais-Nilon has launched a new jewelry line for children, appropriately called Petit Bijou. For us English speakers, that’s French for “little jewel”. You can check out the baby baubles at the Web site http://www.petitbijouonline.com/.

Just as each child has their own unique personality, so do the necklaces of Petit Bijou. The debut line features charms on organic cotton cords in colors such as pink, purple, blue, red, green and black or on silver or 14 karat gold-fill chains. Among the twenty plus charms available are teddy bears, ballerinas, butterfly’s, horses, dinosaurs, guitars, cars, stars, peace signs, hearts, crowns, and the Eiffel Tower.

Petit Bijou’s fine jewelry collection, Petit Bijou Couture, includes paved diamond Ladybug’s, Teddy Bears and Hearts on 14k white, yellow or rose gold chain.

Stop by to shop for your little ones, your nieces, nephews and friends of children — or just to take another gander at her adorable twin sons, Jax Joseph and Jaid Thomas. I think Jax, on the left, is my favorite. Of course that could be because when I first saw pictures of them, he was wearing a Bob Marley t-shirt.  Cute and cool — how can you resist!

My last post about Michele Obama and the long-overdue respect which black women are now enjoying, sparked a stream of memories about unpleasant run ins I’ve had with certain black men. I’ll put my disclaimer at the end of this post about the good black men who win a lot of admiration from me, but upfront, I’d like to make something clear. Too many black men, unfortunately, have fallen into the habit of abandoning and profoundly disappointing black women, in one way or another.

I’ve got one long-running situation and an anecdote that bear this out. 

I didn’t grow up with my father. Truth be told, we had contact once when I was seven years old, and then 29 years later after I had already gotten married, settled with Hubby in the Garden State, and shortly before I realized I was pregnant. I never even memorized his name until I was required to get it to apply for a marriage certificate in Jamaica, where Hubby and I tied the knot. There is plenty of responsibility to go around for this estrangement. My parents were only together for a very short time, and I have reason to believe that my mother decided to carry on with her life without him because of an untenable circumstance in his life. Also, apparently, he and my eldest half brother (there are 6 of them, plus one half sister) knew all about me, and my brother’s family tried to establish contact with mine, but the offers were rebuffed. Who really knows what happened. My philosophy is that the responsibility for this rests on my parents’ shoulders, it’s their history and I shouldn’t complicate my life by trying to get to the bottom of their mistake. My whole life, mother refused to talk about my father, except to frame it in the context of being angry with me about something or another and suggesting that we would both be better off if I lived with him. At the end of the day, the man who by all rights is the primary male figure in my life … just wasn’t. He hasn’t influenced me one way or another at all, and knowing my mother’s aversion to talking about him, I never thought about him for fear of aggravating her. So it’s like he never existed. That made me, as far as my paternal lineage goes, and in the words of a Southern saying about people disconnected from their past, a cut flower. 

And the anecdote: 

When I was a freshman in college, I lived at home and had a part-time job in a neighboring town. One evening, a co-worker, a black man, offered me a ride home. Now folks, fear not. He didn’t try to take advantage of me and I didn’t feel apprehensive about riding in his car. Maybe that’s because I noticed that he stuck precisely to the route I gave him. Anyway, he lost my respect after the police pulled him over, ran his plates, realized that he was driving with a suspended license, and arrested him. I looked straight into his face through the rearview mirror as the police pushed his chest down on the trunk of his car and handcuffed him, and I’ll never forget the look.  More so, I’ll never forget the fact that the police never helped me to get home. That’s right, gentle readers. I was stranded on a commercial road that connected several towns and two counties in north Jersey. At that time of night, all of the businesses were closed, except for a pizza shop. I stopped in there, called my cousin and asked her to give me a ride home, which she did. 

The only major consideration that those situations had in common is that both men had handled their lives a bit carelessly at one point, setting them up to essentially drop the ball at a critical moment. I don’t know why black men often find themselves in situations wherein they desert black women. Maybe a lot of guys create too many children than they can reasonably tend to, start over with a new woman, find themselves overwhelmed and ashamed of their actions, and end up estranged from their children. Maybe they are heartless, and simply don’t care about the lives that they change, often for the worse, when they leave.

I don’t resent my father for the past. It would be a waste of valuable time and energy, and at that stage in my pregnancy, it would have put too much stress on me. I visited him this past summer. When he picked me up at the train station, he recognized me right away, without me having sent him any pictures of myself beforehand. He practically walked on other people to get to me at the train platform, grab my bags and give me a huge hug. Over those few days, he struck me as a guy who really regretted what happened all those years ago, even if he was completely lost as to how to make amends. He did his best to explain the past, answering all of my questions with more completeness and openness than I ever got from my mother. He gave me a gold necklace and bracelet one afternoon, and while I adjusted the bracelet around my wrist, I glimpsed him walking away and looking back, sort of smiling. Maybe he was relieved that I didn’t hate him (and still don’t) and that I was willing to visit him and keep an open mind after all those years. 

In the case of that co-worker, maybe he represents men who are are struggling to overcome mistakes in their past. Yet at any moment, a minor mistake can lead to a major headache, as past mistakes come to the fore. Whatever the reasons, abandonment is not acceptable, and black women shouldn’t tolerate it. 

How, you might ask, should black women avoid being disappointed, even if the guy’s present-day intentions are good? Well, I don’t think it’s that hard to recognize a decent, dependable man when he comes along. He dresses neatly. He holds gainful employment. He is connected to a community of people who depend on him, like a church, community organization, a sports team, an extended family — heck, even an investment club would do! As long as he is surrounded by solid people who can speak well of him, you know you’ve got a potential keeper. Notice I didn’t tick off the usual list of trappings in an Ideal Black Man: Plum job, nice car, huge net worth, real estate holdings, college degree, etc. All those things are icing on the cake, and if you find a guy with all of those things going for him, then bravo! At the end of the day, he has to be a reliable and considerate man with a steady moral compass. A guy like that won’t let you down, but if his character is lacking in those things, then you should agree to remain casual friends (without benefits!) and wish him well in life. 

Obviously, if a solid guy comes into your life who does not happen to be black, don’t overlook him. Even if you don’t have the right rapport, or enough buzz to sustain a long-term relationship, at least get to know him and come away from the experience with a good friend, a better idea as to what you want in a guy and some good memories. At the very least, it wouldn’t be the wisest thing you ever did to bypass a guy like that, especially if you want to place a high value on marriage, kids and a guy who can be the rock of the family.

Whew! It sure took me long enough to get back to this blog, didn’t it? Since I last blogged about two weeks ago, I said I would add my farthing’s worth to the wave of commentary about President-elect Barack Obama’s election-day win. 

There are so many aspects of this victory to be explored, from the emotional impact that the election has had on black men in this country, to the way the good reputation of the U.S. abroad has been restored somewhat. Of all those precious gems of ideas that have been mined out of this situation, I want to talk about notion that hasn’t received as much play, as far as I’ve seen: Michele Obama as First Lady. Remember when President Bush invited the Obamas to the White House so that the men could talk shop and the women could do the house tour? I wanted to laugh. While Michele Obama is clearly elegant and refined enough to hold her own at a White House tea, she seemed woefully underused and out of place on that domestic mission. The woman is Princeton and Harvard educated, so she could just as easily have sat in the Oval Office and weighed in on important transition business!

Well, since she wasn’t the one who ran for president primarily, I’ll stick to talking about her as First Lady. One of the things I liked most about Barack Obama was that he chose to marry a black woman. OK, OK, I know that sounds silly and shallow. But dear readers, would you at least agree that very often successful black men seemed to prefer to marry white, Latino, Asian (purple, ecru, mother-of-pearl) women while overlooking perfectly amiable and refined black women right under their noses? It happened (and happens) so often as to give black women a collective complex about it. We found ourselves questioning whether we were good enough to be in the company and on the arm of a powerful, accomplished and charismatic black man. Having the U.S.’s first black president, and one who is such an impressive person at home and abroad reach the pinnacle of his career with a black woman on his arm more than compensates for all the doctors, engineers, lawyers and other eligible black bachelors who did not. 

Even black dolls got similar treatment. It reminds me of an incident that unfolded while I worked as a sales associate at a gift shop in a high-end mall one summer. A white couple came into the store and the wife wanted to buy a particular figurine. Our store only had the ‘black’ version of the figurine in stock, which I discovered after hunting for it in the back room. When I emerged with the figurine in my hand and offered it to the woman, she complained loudly: ‘But she’s blaaack!’ Oh, the joy of that implication. Imagine a perfectly pretty little figurine with its tinged complexion and head of curly black hair, clearly a black girl, not being good enough to be presented to whomever this ninny had in mind for the gift. I didn’t sound off, telling her that if I could play with white dolls my whole life and emerge from childhood emotionally intact, then her little Snow White could deal with a little diversity on her bookshelf. Instead, she left the store (with my daggers in her back), while her mortified husband stayed behind to hunt around for an alternative. After making a purchase, he tipped me generously. In a culture where money talks, I think I chose the right response, no?  

Maybe the notion that black women are getting more respect from society at large, and at last, black men has occurred to Michele Obama and her friends and relatives. Maybe they have better things to occupy their time. But I can’t hold back on this, even if it sounds silly and shallow. Despite that nincompoop’s behavior at the mall all those years ago, it’s been my personal experience that white Americans have a better opinion of black Americans than we give them credit for and are more willing to judge us by the content of our characters than write us off because of our skin color.  When you think about it, interacting among the racial majority with ease is a must, so I’ve picked up on this notion while having to study, work, worship and network alongside them. And I believe that in those situations, many whites were genuinely interested in my background and simply wanted to pass the time having a nice conversation with an interesting person. Bringing a lot of angst and compounded grudges from incidents like the one at the gift boutique would have made me a very off putting personality to deal with, no matter now justified my complaints about historical wrongs might have been. But telling my silly jokes and talking about my real interests (literature, shopping, the works of Alfred Hitchcock and Rod Serling) allowed whites to eventually discuss racial issues around me with more ease, and me to make some friendships that I will value forever.  

When white American women (especially that twit from the mall) look at Michele Obama, they will see (and already have seen, thanks to the massive rallies during this marathon election) someone whom they and their daughters can admire and emulate. Who wouldn’t? She’s tall, confident, educated, accomplished and beautiful. President-elect Obama (I love saying that!) could not have chosen a better wife.  In my opinion, a man’s wife is his very best ally in life. I don’t care how many smart, tough, go-getter advisors President-elect Obama (!!) will appoint during his two terms in office (name it, claim it!), he won’t have a better asset than Michele. Judging from her previous job as a VP of community and external affairs for University of Chicago Hospitals, her legendary habit of taking early-morning runs before work, her daughters and the way she handles herself at public appearances, she is a pillar of her community.  Were they not married, and he chose her to fill a cabinet position, I think anyone else would have been a pale runner up. I remember a lot of passages from Obama’s victory speech, but the way he described Michele left quite an impression: he said she’s his best friend, the rock of their family and the love of his life. It’s the way he described Michele that almost moved me to tears in this election! 

Don’t we all know a ‘Michele Obama’ in one way or another in our own lives? She is a black woman who is the rock that everyone runs to for advice or to vent or to launch an enterprising project. To hear the President of the United States extol a black woman so glowingly and lovingly (albeit that the woman is his wife) for all the world to see and hear was very gratifying, I must say! 

Black women should glean this lesson from the Obamas’ victory: we are more than good enough to be the driving force behind a powerful man, even if he is black. We should see ourselves as beautiful, funny and accomplished and when we operate in society, we should do so with the assumption that everyone else will see it, too. And if the President of the United States can heap such care and admiration on his black wife, we should expect the same from the men whom we chose as husbands/boyfriends.

She’s here! She’s here!  

My raison d’etre, the apple of my eye, love of my life and the very best thing that has ever happened to me is finally in my arms. I’m a mommy! My daughter was born on Oct. 17, after two grueling hours of induced labor. I don’t care what Hubby says: when I saw them lift that baby girl out of me, the room went totally silent. Perhaps it took just minutes for the the swarm of medical professionals to clean her up and check her out, but time must have stopped until I heard her first few cries. She didn’t belt out one scream after another, but she cried just enough to let me know that she had arrived. It was an incredible feeling to hear the baby’s voice and know that she had finally, finally arrived.  

As to what Hubby and I did when we brought our precious cargo home — we fell into the arms of my aunt, who volunteered to be in the delivery room, which she was. She stayed a week after the baby’s birth to cook, babysit, advise and encourage us during our first week as parents. It was great! She is an amazing cook and possesses all sorts of practical knowledge that one accumulates giving birth to and raising six children. 

Hubby’s mother also signed up for one week of time with the new baby. If you add her experience as a mom, you get women who have raised 10 kids. So I spent a lot of time listening to their stories and picking up little hints from them on burping, fussiness and dressing the baby for colder weather.

This assistance put me at ease. And it got me to thinking: how do modern people manage with new babies when they are far away from experienced relatives? At some point during my pregnancy, I looked into doula services. Doulas, in theory, are great. They are there to help you out in whatever way you need, whether it means coaching and comforting you in the delivery room or adjust to the new home life with baby. They can coach you on breast feeding or help you manage the baby’s fussy times. They can be an extra help as you recover from either a C-section or natural delivery, as was the case with me. 

By ‘natural’ I mean a regular birth, not labor without pain killers. C’mon now, there was no need to be a hero!

I think doulas are one of the trappings of modern yuppie life, which ironically, involves doing a lot of things the old fashioned way, before everyday life involved eating foods and wearing clothes shipped in from mass-produced facilities around the world. Employing a doula seems to go right along with shopping at an organic foods market, driving hybrid cars and trying very hard to live a life of which a conservationist or environmentalist would approve. It’s ironic that we’ve adopted old fashioned and traditional practices in order to live a more enlightened, progressive life. 

Thank goodness for older, experienced aunts and mothers in law. If Hubby and I were typical yuppies, we might have to consider a doula. As it stands now, however, we’ve done just fine with the elder women folk in our families. 

It’s interesting that in mid-September, when I left the office for my extended maternity leave, the financial markets collapsed. After having seen one high fallutin’ CEO after another disgraced in all of this, I think some of these people ought to be forced into doula training schools and assigned to working mothers who are on leave from their full-time jobs and demanding careers. And they should be required to advocate for a minimum of six months paid maternity leave for their charges. I’ve got dibs on Henry Paulson. He looks like he could pick up on managing a baby without too many problems. Plus, he looks like a brawler, so if anyone tried to get too close to us without washing their hands he could double as my bodyguard!