A heartfelt Thank You to the 44th President of the United States, Barack Obama and his family.
I will never forget election night in 2008. Our eldest and then-only son was just over a year old. He was fast asleep as my husband and I watched the results on CNN. We traded fleeting glances as each states results came in. It seemed more and more likely but we were afraid to call it, afraid to acknowledge it. After all, until that day, that moment and what he was about to accomplish seemed impossible. We could still reach back and feel so much pain; this future was almost too beautiful to even imagine. Yet.. it did. He did. We did. The man who ran a campaign based on hope, equality and unity. The man with a stunning, strong and intelligent brown wife and beautiful brown babies. The man with an African name became President of my country. The country my ancestors gave their lives to build. For which they gave their lives to survive. As a mom, it felt like I had been given the most precious gift. I could cup my beautiful baby’s face in my palms and tell him he could be anything and believe it. I could believe it. Until that point, I’m not sure I did.
So…
Thank you, President Obama.
Thank you, Michelle.
Thank you, Malia and Sasha.
Thank you for your hope, your honesty, your dignity and grace. Thank you for being a living and breathing example of all our babies can accomplish without limits or apologies. Thank you for making truth-tellers out of us optimistic mamas. The ones who paint with vivid colors and encourage our children to never stop reaching. Thank you for helping us look into our little ones’ eyes and say with certainty that the future can be bright and the future can be theirs. Yes we can. Yes we did. Yes we can.
***
About The Author
Faye McCrayis an attorney by day and writer all the time. Her work has been featured on My Brown Baby, AfroPunk, AfroNews, For Harriet, Madame Noire, Black Girl Nerds, Black and Married with Kids, and other popular publications. Faye also has a number of short stories and a full length novel available for purchase on Amazon. Most importantly, Faye is a proud wife and mother to three beautiful and talented young boys who she is fiercely passionate about raising. You can find Faye on Twitter @fayewrites and on the web at fayemccray.com.
One mom’s emotional reflection on parenting in the era of increased gun violence.
Featured Photo (c) Faye McCray 2016 All rights reserved.
He’s up from nap.
He stretches his long legs out over his blue and green sheets, snuggling his curly hair into his pillow. He opens his big brown eyes and looks at me, a soft smile on his face, then he closes his eyes again, turning so his chubby golden cheeks nestle deep into his pillow. He curls in a ball, drawing his knees to his chest and breathing softly. He looks so tiny in his new big boy bed. His three-year-old frame only making up a third of its length. The rest crowded with his stuffed animal friends and fluffy comforter.
Are you up, baby?
I whisper it, kneeling beside his bed and breathing in his smell. He smells like cookies and clay. From the morning of playtime and the snack he just had to have. I kiss his nose and he wipes it away, sitting up slowly. His bare feet dangling over the edge of his bed and his eyes still hanging low from sleep. I watch as a soft yawn escapes his tiny pink lips. I remember him as the colorless baby, swaddled and content, nestled in my arms as I dreamed for him, wondering what his new life would bring. Fresh steps, new soul.
Now, he reaches his arms out for me and I lift him. Letting him nestle his head into that soft dip near my collarbone, and wrap his little legs around my waist. I feel his body release a heavy sigh.
He is safe and he feels it. I run my hand over his warm back, and I do too.
He fills me. My soul forever pregnant. Giving birth to thoughts and plans of his life and his brother’s, mine, ours and theirs. I remember the love that made them. The love that sustains them. I nourish it so we witness them hand-in-hand. I nourish my mind so I don’t miss a moment. I dream of being silver-haired and watching the children they make, play off a country porch, their shadows dancing at sunset in a lake. Smiling to myself, content. Lived and full.
But now I cry.
My tears are puddles at my feet. Joining in the streams that fill the rivers, staining the Diaspora. For Lucia and Sybrina. For Emmett, Addie Mae, Cynthia, Carole and Denise’s Mommies. For Hadiya’s Mommy. For Baltimore’s Mommies. For Chicago’s. For Detroit’s. For New York City’s. For all the dreams halted by bullets. The joy buried in caskets. The Mommy’s whose babies they were helpless to protect. Guns loaded with worthlessness both mandated by a careless society and perpetuated needlessly by its victims.
It’s all hate crimes.
I once again lower my head beneath a stream of water and wash a festering sore. Hoping to rinse away the virus infecting my dreams. The virus that worries about the evil in others, the criminalization of the beautiful brown skin love made, and the lowered expectations of every teacher under a brainwashed spell. That virus that caused me to worry when my sons grew out of their toddler clothes because I knew it was only a matter of time before the world stopped seeing the beauty I did. Before those kind smiles and waves from strangers, became purse clutching, eye-avoiding fear, nurtured and fostered by an unkind media and an unfair justice system.
I place a Band-Aid on the festering sore and dream awake. The lullaby of lies is only comforting to the unconscious.
My eyes are open now.
He’s awake.
*In 2012, after an argument over loud music, Michael Dunn, a 47-yr old white Floridian fired ten shots into a carful of unarmed black teenagers, killing Jordan Davis, a seventeen year old boy. Yesterday, after more than thirty hours of deliberation, a jury found Dunn guilty of three counts of attempted second degree murder and one count of firing into an occupied car. A mistrial was declared on the first-degree murder charge.
Faye McCrayis an attorney by day and writer all the time. Her work has been featured on My Brown Baby, AfroPunk, AfroNews, For Harriet, Madame Noire, Black Girl Nerds, Black and Married with Kids, and other popular publications. Faye also has a number of short stories and a full length novel available for purchase on Amazon. Most importantly, Faye is a proud wife and mother to three beautiful and talented young boys who she is fiercely passionate about raising. You can find Faye on Twitter @fayewrites and on the web at fayemccray.com.
While the myth of the absent black father has been debunked again and again, it doesn’t negate the reality that some dads could be doing much better by their daughters.
In 2003, recording artist John Mayer won the Grammy Award for Song of the Year for his song “Daughters.” In it, Mayer paints a somber picture of girls with father issues navigating relationships as adults. He warns, “on behalf of every man, looking out for every girl, you are the God and weight of her world… so fathers, be good to your daughters.” At the time, there were few things that annoyed me more than John Mayer (he was EVERYWHERE) but it was impossible to deny the truth in the song. This year, Kelly Clarkson brought millions of people (including herself… and me) to tears when singing an acoustic version of her song, “Piece by Piece,” an emotional song reflecting on her disappointment with her own father.
I was reminded of these songs last night when I caught the tail end of Iyanla Vanzant’s reality show, Fix My Life. The show focused on rehabilitating the so-called “Angry Black Woman.” While the episode was everything you would expect, one theme rang true, so many of the women who were featured had issues that began with disappointment in their fathers.
While the myth of the absent black father has been debunked again and again, it doesn’t negate the reality that some dads could be doing much better by their daughters. My parents divorced when I was six and while my father was always present, it was impossible to ignore the void his physical absence left me with. Luckily, I had two brothers, ten and twelve years older than me, who stepped up in ways he could not. As I grew into a young lady and chose my spouse, here are some of things being loved by them taught me I needed.
My brothers and I at my wedding in 2006. (c) Faye McCray
1. Be honest.
One of the more priceless lessons my eldest brother taught me was to recognize the humanity in the adults in my life. It may seem like a simple lesson but when you’re a child, you tend to see your parents and other adults in your life as superhuman. I think thats why it is so difficult to recover from childhood disappointment. My brother was careful to dismantle the pedestal I put the adults in my life on… even him. That way when they disappointed me, it didn’t crush me.
One of the most important things you can do for your daughter is be honest. Don’t attempt to be superhuman by hiding your flaws or masking your vulnerability. Admit when you made a mistake. Admit when you lied. Tell her the truth even if it may hurt her. Your honesty will help your daughter see you as a whole person. That way when you disappoint her, and you will, she will recognize your humanity and not just see you as a liar.
2. Stand by your word.
My kids are constantly begging for things. “Mommy, can we go here…” “Mommy, can we do this…” Sometimes its easier to say, “Later” than “No” even if I know that saying “No” is inevitable. The thing is, if you are constantly promising one thing and doing another, it won’t be long before your words means nothing.
In the words of Melania Trump… or First Lady Michelle Obama, “Your word is your bond.” If you say your going to be there, be there. If you say you are going to do something, do it. If you aren’t sure you will be able to do either of those things, be honest about it. Nothing stings worst to a young woman than disappointment. You want your daughter to be able to rely on you and expect the same from the man she may choose to be with.
3. Tell her she is beautiful.
I had my fair share of awkward phases during adolescence. I had a gangly rail-thin phase, a pimply phase, and a phase where my belly always poked out from under my shirt, no matter how hard I tried to suck it in. Like most girls, it wasn’t always easy feeling secure in my body. Some days, it felt like I would never learn to love myself, let alone find someone to love me.
Young girls are fragile. Especially girls of color. Growing up, we are hard pressed to find images of ourself where we are symbols of beauty or the object of someone’s affection. As a father, you have a unique ability to make your daughter feel beautiful. You are your daughters first representative of the opposite sex. Tell her you enjoy her smile, that the new color she painted her toes is cute, that she looks even more beautiful after browning in the sun. Feeling beautiful in your Dad’s eyes, even if just his, can make all the difference in how you cope with the many phases of adolescent insecurity.
4. Don’t hit her.
This is pretty self explanatory, though, I know it may be controversial. However, as a society that condemns all forms of domestic violence, I think it’s important to teach our daughters early that a man should never lay his hands on her in anger. By saying it’s okay for fathers to hit their daughters in certain circumstances, I think we dangerously blur the line about whether it’s okay for a man to hit a woman. If you tell your daughter no man is allowed to put his hands on her, show her you mean it by doing the same.
5. Treat other women the way you want to see men treat her. Especially her mother.
Whether you are married, divorced or single, your daughter will see the way you treat the women in your life as an indication of how she should expect men to treat her. If you are constantly disrespecting women, bad-mouthing her mother or womanizing, if will be difficult for her to build a foundation of trust with a man in the future because she will constantly worry he will turn into you; or worse, she will expect him to. It’s hard enough navigating adulthood without entering it with trust issues.
If you can’t curb your womanizing ways, avoid exposing your daughter to your behavior. Don’t bring multiple women around her. Where possible, avoid bad-mouthing her mother in her presence. Save your complaints for another adult. Your daughter (or any child) is never an appropriate audience for this kind of behavior.
6. Enjoy her company.
My eldest brother used to pick me up from elementary school so we could ride the city bus home from school. It was in the age of Kangols and boomboxes, and he would insist on sitting in the back of the bus with music blasting. Despite his efforts to be cool, little me didn’t get the memo. I would dance and act silly until it broke his facade and he was laughing right along with me. I was too young to remember every detail of those moments, but what I do remember is how good it felt that my company was enjoyed. As I grew older, I was confident that other people would enjoy my company too. Even if I was a little weird.
With your own daughter, laugh at her jokes. Find joy in the things she does. If your time with her is limited, find things to do that keep you two engaged. Don’t just plop her in front of a television or a movie and babysit her, spend actual time with her. Find things to do together that allow you the opportunity to get to know who she is. That will give her more confidence that she is someone worth getting to know.
7. Tell her you love her.
My nineties kids will likely remember that old Brownstone song, “If You Love Me.” The chorus begins, “If you love me, say it.” While the song is about romantic love, that line always stuck with me. I think it stuck with me because saying I love you has never been easy for me to say unless I mean it. My husband, then-boyfriend, was the first to say I love you. To this day, we laugh at the memory because initially, I didn’t say it back, and his response was, “You know you love me too.” While he was probably right, the words meant a lot to me. I didn’t want to say it until I was sure I meant it. Today, he couldn’t stop me from saying it if he tried.
Just as much as saying the words matter, hearing them matter too. While arguably, showing you love someone is better, you can do both. Tell your daughter you love her so she never has a reason to question whether you do. If you can’t muster saying the words, write them. Those three words are too important to be left untold.
8. Don’t walk away.
No matter how hard things get with her mother or how difficult her teenage years are on you, never walk away from your daughter. Fight to stay present and in her life. Even if the complexities of teen angst stop her from wanting to talk to you or make her hard to be around, never stop trying. Love her unconditionally. Show her she is worthy of unconditional love.
About The Author
Faye McCrayis an attorney by day and writer all the time. Her work has been featured on My Brown Baby, AfroPunk, AfroNews, For Harriet, Madame Noire, Black Girl Nerds, Black and Married with Kids, and other popular publications. Faye also has a number of short stories and a full length novel available for purchase on Amazon. Most importantly, Faye is a proud wife and mother to three beautiful and talented young boys who she is fiercely passionate about raising. You can find Faye on Twitter @fayewrites and on the web at fayemccray.com.
As a thinking child of color being raised and educated in the United States, it doesn’t take long to recognize your place in this country’s celebrated history. During the 1787 Constitution Convention, the same folks that declared “all men are created equal” also drafted the Three-Fifths Compromise which counted non-voting enslaved Africans as three-fifths of a person. Those same men denied women the right to vote. This conflict between principle and practice was a theme throughout history and still resonates today.
Speaking in Milwaukee, Wisconsin in February 2008, while her husband was still campaigning for President, the future first lady Michelle Obama stunned many when she declared, “… for the first time in my adult life I am proud of my country and not just because Barack has done well but because I think people are hungry for change and I have been desperate to see our country moving in that direction and just not feeling so alone in my frustration and disappointment.” While during the rally her comments were met with applause, almost immediately the media pounced. People questioned her patriotism and her allegiance to a country her husband was campaigning to represent. Things worked out. However, I remember thinking at the time how much I valued her honesty in that moment. It clearly wasn’t scripted and frankly, I don’t know any intellectual who didn’t know exactly what she meant.
With all the recent controversy over Colin Kaepernick (the football player calling national attention to police killings of unarmed people of color by lowering himself to one knee during the National Anthem), it has reignited the debate about what patriotism is and who has the right to exercise it.
According to Merriam-Webster, patriotism is defined simply as the “love for or devotion to one’s country.” The word is derived from the latin word “patriota” which means countryman. The noun “patriotism” began to popularize in 18th century Europe to inspire a love and loyalty of their country in students. Interestingly, during the American revolution, revolutionaries, those fighting for American independence, were dubbed “Patriots.” Although they were rejecting the ruling British monarch, they were committed to the principles of republicanism which held liberty and unalienable individual rights as central values, making white men sovereign and rejecting monarchy, aristocracy, inherited political power and corruption.
As a thinking child of color being raised and educated in the United States, it doesn’t take long to recognize your place in this country’s celebrated history. During the 1787 Constitutional Convention, the same folks that declared “all men are created equal” also drafted the Three-Fifths Compromise which counted non-voting enslaved Africans as three-fifths of a person. Those same men denied women the right to vote. This conflict between principle and practice was a theme throughout history and still resonates today.
“All I could think while he was bellowing out “land of the free and home of the brave” was that the song was written in 1814. His ancestors, while brave, were anything but free. Was it my responsibility in that moment to interrupt the song my then five year old was so proud to sing to me and tell him the truth?”
Like most parents, I feel a responsibility to my children to tell them the truth. However, at six and nine, it isn’t always easy to know how much truth they can handle. Our history in this country can be complex. Our current primary education system doesn’t really allow for a discussion of that complexity. It is Eurocentric and designed to create loyalists, much in the same way the old British monarch envisioned it. As a parent, I want to reveal those complexities and challenge my children to think. However, I struggle with revealing the truth to them in a way that doesn’t burden them or make them feel anger and shame. Last year, my middle baby began Kindergarten. I remember how enthusiastic he was when he came home and insisted on singing the new song he had learned in music class. It was “The Star Spangled Banner,”our national anthem. All I could think while he was bellowing out “land of the free and home of the brave” was that the song was written in 1814. His ancestors, while brave, were anything but free. Was it my responsibility in that moment to interrupt the song my then five year old was so proud to sing to me and tell him the truth?
In present day society, as a mother of three brown boys I would be lying if I didn’t admit loving them involves a considerable amount of worry. Police corruption and violence is a reality. The school to prison pipeline is a reality. Mass incarceration is a reality. All of which disproportionately impact humans that look like them. I can’t deny my disappointment in a government and citizenship that makes it a habit of looking the other way rather than committing to its own founding principles and insisting on change. Watching Kaepernick take a knee and a multitude of athletes follow suit, I can’t help but recognize the act as a direct affront to that conflict I recognized as a child. The physical act calls attention to the disparities between principle and practice. Viewing the act through a parental gaze, I can only hope that my boys would make a similar choice one day. Although they may never have the opportunity to take a knee on a national stage, I would hope they would question the reality of the world around them and be brave enough to take action, much like this country’s Founding Fathers did even if our people were left on the side lines. To recall the 2008 words of our first lady, I have “been desperate to see our country moving in [the direction of change]” and to not feel “so alone in my frustration and disappointment.”
“If no one ever criticized their governments, there would be no abolition of slavery, no civil rights movement and frankly, no United States of America.”
Which begs the question, what do I teach my children about patriotism? Is it to stand on the side of those that say America “right or wrong”? Those that hurl racial epithets and demand revocation of citizenship to those that hold America accountable to its own standards? Or is it to stand on the side of those that recognize the complexity and disappointment that can sometimes go along with American citizenship? Those that recognize that there is still an underclass of people brandished to the side lines? Leading question, right? Obviously for me, the answer is to stand on the side of the thinkers. Blind loyalty above criticism is the antithesis of patriotism. If no one ever criticized their governments, there would be no abolition of slavery, no civil rights movement and frankly, no United States of America.
I want my children to question everything and challenge the status quo. I want them to seek knowledge even if it means stepping outside of what makes them comfortable and admitting when they are wrong. I didn’t stop my five year old from singing the National Anthem. However, as my children get older, I hope to act as their teacher, unfolding the truths hidden in history. I hope to encourage their questions, their skepticism and their empathy for the citizens left out or addressed as footnotes. I hope we can be truth seekers together, since I am the product of the same education system. I hope with that truth comes criticism. In fact, I expect it. If one day those choices are met with the label of unpatriotic, by today’s definition, I can only be proud.
***
About The Author
Faye McCrayis an attorney by day and writer all the time. Her work has been featured on My Brown Baby, AfroPunk, AfroNews, For Harriet, Madame Noire, Black Girl Nerds, Black and Married with Kids, and other popular publications. Faye also has a number of short stories and a full length novel available for purchase on Amazon. Most importantly, Faye is a proud wife and mother to three beautiful and talented young boys who she is fiercely passionate about raising. You can find Faye on Twitter @fayewrites and on the web at fayemccray.com.
Failure and loss are parts of life. As a child, these experiences can be devastating. Here are five tips to help your child overcome setbacks.
Failure and loss are parts of life. As a child, these experiences can be devastating. Here are five tips to help your child overcome setbacks.
1.Failure is part of the process.
Competition, in all forms, brings up some of our prehistoric instincts of survival and tenacity. In high school, I competed in basketball and debate. I can still remember the rush of energy and excitement I felt preparing to compete. If I lost, that heightened adrenaline could make it feel like the world was ending. I felt like I wasn’t good enough, and everyone watching me fail saw the same thing.
It’s hard not to take failure personally. Even as adults. Our job as parents is to constantly remind our children of the bigger picture. In my case, it was to become a better basketball player and debater. My mother would remind me that every great athlete, artist, and entrepreneur failed many times on their path to success. With each failure, they learned something that contributed to what made them great.
2. Celebrate small victories.
My youngest son had a hard time learning to write. He would grow frustrated, drop his pencil and claim he was “too tired” to write any more words. We decided to work with an Occupational Therapist to get him ready for Kindergarten. She helped in many ways but one of the things we appreciated the most was how she celebrated his small achievements. For instance, although his ‘B’ may have still been backwards, she would praise him for keeping it on the line. His ability to see his progress encouraged him to keep trying when he felt like giving up.
No one becomes great without practice. The thing about practice is that it can look messy. You try and fail and repeat until you stop making mistakes. It is important to help our children appreciate their progress so they are able to recognize how far they have come. That makes the path to victory all the more attainable.
3. Have fun.
Some of my greatest memories are being on the court with my teammates during basketball games. They helped me push myself beyond what I thought I was capable of. In retrospect, it is hard for me to remember every win or loss. I mostly remember how I felt playing the game.
The actual joy comes from the game itself. There is always another game. Maybe not for a championship, but when you can compete there is always the possibility you can win next time. The ability to compete is a true blessing. Tell them to go out there, give their best and most importantly, have fun.
4. Praise effort, not just results.
While watching the 2016 Olympics a few weeks ago, my sons were upset to see a hurdler lose her lead because she stumbled and tripped over a hurdle. The competitor dropped to her knees and cried. Initially my boys could not get over the heartbreak of her public failure. She was devastated and it was hard to watch. It was easy to forget she was competing in the Olympics. Win or lose, she had to be an incredible athlete to even qualify.
So often we are bombarded with news about winners. While it is wonderful for our children to see people doing exceptionally well, it can be misleading. Only seeing the success creates the illusion that successful people never struggle, falter or fail. We rarely hear about the team that won second place even though that team may be comprised of exceptional players. Success is giving your best effort and being better today than you were yesterday. Our children should focus on how they can improve and show a better effort every time they compete and not just the end result.
5. Remember your child is competing, not you.
I am a black belt in Karate. I was about twelve when I started and continued practicing throughout high school. My eldest son began practicing when he was six. While now he is older and takes it more seriously, when he first started it was hard for him to make it through class without being distracted. He would stare at himself in the mirrored walls. He would pose, do spins and get overly excited when it was time to do high energy moves. It took everything in me not to pull him out of class. I knew the focus it took to become a black belt and initially, it was difficult for me to respect that it was his process, not mine.
We can not compete for our children. As much as we want to, we can’t go on the court and shoot their shots or tackle their little opponents on the field. If we did, we might end up in jail. We have to fight the urge to relive our successes or rewrite our failures through our children. Take a step back and breath. Remember, our children are writing their own stories and they do not need our paragraphs roughly inserted onto their page. If you put too much pressure on them, they will feel like they let themselves down and you each time they do not succeed.
***
About The Author
Rick McCrayis a married father of three amazing sons. He is also a proud graduate of Duke University where he holds a BA in History and African/African American History, and Howard University School of Law. He is also a regular commentator on the In The Black podcast. Rick is passionate about our history and helping to educate our community concerning the great contributions of people of color to the world. You can find Rick on Twitter @RealRickMcCray.
An Afro-Latina mom’s experience parenting a multicultural child.
by Jahayra Guess
At one of my daughter’s many well visits, the sweet nurse who showed us to our exam room looked at me and then looked at my adorable caramel skinned baby with a massive curly top of hair and asked if she was “mixed.” I paused for a moment because I really hadn’t considered that before. As an Afro-Latina married to an African American man, I really didn’t see us as a biracial couple. Not knowing how to get into the complexities of why I don’t consider her “mixed” when it comes to race but “mixed” when it comes to culture, I simply replied, “Yes.” I knew that wouldn’t be the last time we would come across the question, and I realized that this made it all the more important to teach my daughter the amazing aspects of both mine and my husband’s cultures. Here are five ways we make it a priority every day:
1. Hablamos Espanol
For me, the most glaring difference in cultures between us is the language we grew up speaking. My mother moved to the United States from the Dominican Republic in her early 20s. Her home base became the rich melting pot of New York City, specifically Queens. She was able to get by without English for most of her life since she worked and lived around people who spoke Spanish. She learned enough to order food or ask for directions with broken English, hand signals, and a kind smile. This meant that I first learned English from watching cartoons at home and later, in school. This shaped who I am and the love of my rich culture. When my husband and I were engaged I made it clear that I wanted our future children to grow up speaking Spanish like I did. He was fully on board with raising bilingual children. Now, a couple of years later, we speak mostly Spanish to our daughter at home. Even though my husband doesn’t speak Spanish fluently, he encourages my daughter’s learning by using Spanish words. He calls milk “leche,” nose “naris,” water “agua,” and himself “Papi.” Don’t get me wrong, it’s not easy to do this when my husband and I primarily communicate in English, but when speaking to my daughter, I am 100% Spanish and even translate things Papi says to her. They are both learning.
2. Bilingual Books with Characters That Look Like Us
This goes right along with number 5. We buy toys and dolls that reflect the beauty and magnificence of our cultures. I am personally a huge fan of Our Generation dolls that come in a multitude of shades and background stories. Growing up I LOVED dolls, so much so, that my doll collection still lives with my mom. When I was looking through my well-preserved dolls for a few I could pass on to my daughter, I felt a little sad for young me. Out of close to 100 dolls, I only had about two that I could say looked like me. I know that contributed to the insecurities I sometimes felt growing up “different.” I did not see myself represented. Losing myself in a pretend world meant being a different race and culture. This was something I could definitely change for my children by being more conscience of what I buy her.
4. Cheesy Grits and Mangu
Food has always been a huge part of who I am. Family gatherings or even quick visits always ended in us gathered around a big meal. I want to make this a tradition in my home too but this, I have to say, was a hard one since I didn’t grow up cooking much in my house. I am loving experimenting with old school recipes so my husband, daughter, and I can come together at the end of each day at our dinner table. This has also brought me, my mom, and mother-in-law much closer together as it involves many phone calls, emails and texts asking for their secret recipes. Nothing like learning to make moro (Dominican rice and beans), collard greens, and giblet gravy with the moms walking me through it step by step.
5. Abuela/Abuelo and Grandma/Grandpa
Who is more qualified to teach the younger generation about where they come from than the grandparents who helped shape their parents? We don’t live close to either sets of parents but thankfully, in this age of technology that doesn’t matter much. Our daughter video chats with Abuela, Abuelo, Grandma and Grandpa a few times a week. They read stories, sing songs and play games. Visits are even more special of course. Seeing the excitement on my daughter’s face when she spends time with her grandparents is truly priceless.
About The Author
Jahayra Guess is an Emmy®-award winning Director of Marketing and Social Media. Her most recent position was held at Harpo Studios, a multimedia production company founded by media mogul Oprah Winfrey. Jahayra is also a married mom of one and passionate about life hacks and unique ways to find a bargain. Follow Jahayra on Twitter @Jai7575!
As good parents we are constantly evaluating how our children are doing and how our parenting is helping to provide a supportive environment that lets our kids grow. It’s easy to feel inadequate. Here are 5 things I’ve learned can show my love when I feel like I am falling short.
by Rick McCray
Being a parent is hard. One moment you think you are doing everything correctly and the next minute you feel like an unfair dictator. As good parentsweare constantly evaluating how our childrenare doing and how our parenting is helping to provide a supportive environment that lets our kids grow. It’s easy to feel inadequate. Here are 5 things I’ve learned can show my love when I feel like I am falling short.
1. Wisdom
My mother has wonderful stories. My favorite times growing up were sitting with her and my sister at the kitchen table while she told a story from her past. I learned that she and one of her brothers would go to the woods in her hometown in North Carolina and pretend to be Tarzan by swinging on actual vines, running around, and yelling as loud as they could. I learned that pigs actually bark similarly to dogs and female pigs are so protective of their babies that they become violent to anyone that comes near them. I learned that my grandmother began to cook for her whole family at 4 years old and that sense of responsibility was taught to my mother and her six siblings. Through telling stories about her life, my mother was teaching me that my young life was somehow connected to a rich history of wonderful people.
“Our lived experience can serve as a constant fountain of knowledge for our children.”
Our lived experience can serve as a constant fountain of knowledge for our children. The trick is knowing how to share our lived experience with our children in a helpful manner that keeps them listening without feeling talked down to. Sharing what we know allows our children another viewpoint to consider when they are called upon to make important life choices. At some point every child must walk alone. However, during that walk we can help our children take all their experiences with them, whether lived or learned from others.
2. Honesty
My father, who passed away this year, was brutally honest. He would give me his thoughts on any subject whether I wanted them or not. Sometimes, I would seek out his advice because I knew he would tell me the truth as he saw it. When I was about ten I could not shake the feeling that something was wrong with the whole Santa Claus scenario. All the shows I watched and pictures I saw made him out to be this huge fat man who came into houses through chimneys. It just didn’t add up that a fat guy could come down our chimney on Christmas Eve without any of us hearing him.
I decided to ask my father because I knew he would tell me the truth. I approached him and asked, “Is Santa Claus real?” He looked at me with a puzzled look and almost laughed, “No, your mother and I get you that stuff.” I was so relieved that I knew the truth and could stop being paranoid about Santa sneaking into our home.
Being honest with our children about life is a gift that will continually bless them. When a child knows that he can ask us a question and get a truthful answer, that means the level of trust we share grows immensely. He is more likely to be honest with us if he knows that we value and practice dealing in truth. Dishonesty is a trait we see from too many of our politicians, religious and business leaders. A child is more likely to come to us for advice or at least a different take on a situation when he knows we won’t have a hidden agenda to bend the truth. Honesty from a parent gives a child another source of reliable information in their life.
3. Vulnerability
When I was about eleven, my paternal grandfather passed away. My family went to Philadelphia for his funeral. After the funeral we were all in a hotel room together when my father started crying. He was laying on the bed and I was beside him and he gave me a big hug and cried. I remember laying on his chest with his arm around me and feeling safe and loved. I knew he was going through terrible pain about the death of his dad, but as his son, I was just happy to be close to him like that – no matter the circumstance.
“When we stand on a pedestal of constant perfection, it only gives us a longer way to fall.”
Often, we want our kids to see us as superheroes. However, the really good superhero stories involve the hero showing his humanity and vulnerability. When our children see us show real emotion and show that we also need people, it allows them to see us as people. No one is perfect. When we stand on a pedestal of constant perfection, it only gives us a longer way to fall. In addition, if our children think of us as an impossible standard to live up to, that can lead to feelings of guilt and inadequacy in them. Don’t be afraid to be human.
4. Quality Time
When I was in high school, I practiced debate. My team would travel around North Carolina competing at different high schools. During one trip my mother agreed to be a judge for “Dramatic Interpretation,” which was a debate competition where students would act out a portion from a contemporary or older dramatic play or book. This wasn’t a category of debate that I participated in, so I was able to sneak in when I wasn’t competing and watch my mother judge other competitors. There were people who were sad, angry, hilarious, and intense. Everyone brought their “A” game, and they all seemed like actual actors who could be on television or the big screen. My mother loved it and talked about her volunteer day for years afterwards. I loved it because I got to see my mother take a genuine interest in something I loved.
Time is the one thing that we can never replenish. Spending quality time with our children – listening to them, playing with them, and going on adventures with them by our side are some of the most fulfilling things we will do as a parents. Think about the people you loved that you have lost in your life. All you have left of them is your memories together. Each day that goes by without them makes those memories sweeter and more important. Personally, I want to spend as much time as I can with my children so when I’m gone they have a massive bank of positivity to pull from when remembering me.
5. Patience
My sons take their time when they eat. My oldest son will eat his food, tiny bite by tiny bite, while picking at every crumb on his plate. He will have 1/10th of a sandwich left and will nibble and nibble at it until it is finally gone. My youngest son likes to talk and eat, so he will tell me about a story of some kid in his class, take a bite, then tell me about a cartoon he was watching. He may even mix in a few hummed bars from a song he heard. A breakfast that should have taken 15 minutes, ends up taking closer to 45 minutes. During morning walks to school, my oldest picks up every acorn. My youngest has to say hello to every bug. Cute as it is, when we are rushing, this can try every fiber of my patience.
“We must respect our children as new soul travelers on this planet who need to take their time with everything that is exciting and new.”
Our children test our patience every day. Yet patience is what children need almost more than anything else. When my patience is tried, I remind myself that my children are younger than me by a multiple. They are learning this big, new world one morsel at a time. We must respect our children as new soul travelers on this planet who need to take their time with everything that is exciting and new. Be patient, be patient, be patient (I’m saying it to remind myself as well). If necessary, allow yourself the extra time to accomplish errands or get to school/work. They have all of adulthood to rush.
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About The Author
Rick McCrayis a married father of three amazing sons. He is also a proud graduate of Duke University where he holds a BA in History and African/African American History, and Howard University School of Law. He is a regular commentator on the In The Black podcast. Rick is passionate about our history and helping to educate our community concerning the great contributions of people of color to the world. You can find Rick on Twitter @RealRickMcCray.
attorney by day and writer all the time. Her work has been featured on My Brown Baby, AfroPunk, AfroNews, For Harriet, Madame Noire, Black Girl Nerds, Black and Married with Kids, and other popular publications. Faye also has a number of short stories and a full length novel available for purchase on Amazon. Most importantly, Faye is a proud wife and mother to three beautiful and talented young boys who she is fiercely passionate about raising. You can find Faye on Twitter @fayewrites and on the web at fayemccray.com.
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