Things We Don’t Need, Now That Obama is President Monday, May 11 2009

Please Visit My Archives

Along with things like afro combs and Madame C.J. Walker, I was -at once-wondering?? if, black folks would still be needing(in need of) those straightening combs and if that extra jar of beeswax no longer finds a needful place among YOUR shelves of needful things, send ‘em to on over to my house, it’s mydayoff, and I’m having a REALLY bad Hair day.

Well, poppishirley for one is not too keen on ‘giving it up’ ‘just yet.

However, along with THOSE ‘trappin’s of ‘the blackness’ we no longer need ’cause we got US a black president: let’s do away with THESE too….

please cut and paste into your browser:

“can’t even do the “stanky leg”
1. http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,246818,00.html

“oh no he did ‘n”
2. http://www.obamabowling.com/1.html

“jowls for America”
3. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rush_Limbaugh

“blah,blah,blah,”
4. http://www.foxnews.com/glennbeck

“please just go away”
5. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Britney_Spears

“never again”
6. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hurricane_Katrina

“Mz. McCan’t”
7. http://www.donkeydish.com/gallery/politicians/cindy-mccain/page_
.html”

“Jessica too”
8. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homer_Simpson

“say it ain’t sooo!”
9. http://whatscookingamerica.net/History/ChitlinsHistory.htm

10. “Barney is my Dog”
http://vodpod.com/watch/1292254-great-moments-in-presidential-speeches-compilation

Thanks for Reading!

-poppishirley
onehundredandfortycharacterslater………………………………..Help Save Darfur!.follow/twitter

5 Responses »

 

Not for ‘Cowards’ Monday, Mar 30 2009

Speaking about Racism.

We ARE a Nation of Cowards.
Try as I might to stay away from controversial issues, alas, I cannot. I will be posting a new series pertaining to the Discussion of Racism. Hopefully, you are not one of ‘them’.–a coward.

Are we truly a New America? or, are we still stuck in foot kissing. Like a new boyfriend, mouth kissing is fine, but when we bend to toe kiss, we, like a new boyfriend will eventually….stand up.

Let’s talk about race, baby.

I hate hating folks. I hate folks hating folks. Hate captures the hater in a vortex which eventually consumes the hater until he/she is good for no more than, well, hating.

Growing up and living black in America, I have known indiscriminate hate. That’s hate for no reason. My (black)ness speaking for me before I enter a room, or a job interview.

I have tried to even see why white supremist hate (everybody). I have looked over both sides, as best I could, however, have not come up for one, solid, valid reason to hate someone (just because).

This post is not meant to give over to any judgment from any side. This post is meant as a sounding board, if you will, to simply address ideas and suggestions, -relevant ones, please-, on How Can We As a Community of Bloggers Reach Out To One Another and Speak, Openly and Candidly About Race.

This Post is not for ‘Cowards’

2 Responses »

 

How My Mother Began Her Very Own Civil Rights Movement (with a crab apple) Friday, Jul 11 2008

When momma was born in 1925

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3MCHI23FTP8&NR=1

Negros/blacks/AfricanAmericans were not allowed to go to school with white people.  Please read:  “The Reign of Walter Plecker” at http://www.melungeons.com/articles/blueridge.htm

 

and the “The Virginia Act to Preserve Racial Integrity of 1924” (an era in which my bff, best friend forever, Alexander Cambias, Sr. would like ALL of America to return).  Here at

 

  http://www.eugenicsarchive.org/html/eugenics/index2.html?tag=1239

 

Although black or (mullato) as described in Plecker’s Census, momma’s family lived rather well.  Even regarding today’s standards her family consisting of twelve, not including their parents, OWNED a 200 plus acre farm in Pittsylvania County, Virginia.  Today the Land belongs to great-great-great Grandfather’s “heirs forever” and in use by the KKK.

 

Momma and her siblings often told stories of their life in the rural south.  Lives of pleasure & pain, pride & prejudice and a lot of hard work captured them there at the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains.  We give a “glimpse” into the history in “My People Were Fishermen” and “Ten Things My Mother Taught Me and Other Myths of the Black Community” archived  here, at  www.PoppiShirley’s Weblog.

 

 Our Family were big story tellers,  they taught us basically, how to think, act and react to life through their stories, rhymes, fables and “jus plain lies” .They would sit and talk hours upon hours reminiscing over their younger days on Mobley Creek Farm.  To us, a living room full of wide-eyed kids, they were larger than life itself, they WERE our Life Surrounded by this great big family circle during our many gatherings while they ate, laughed, sang songs, told tales and secrets and gave us, as children, the essence of our heritage, through story and song.

 

Did I mention here that included in this circle were my Great Aunties and Uncles, there were 12 of them, my cousins, last count around 150 and, my own siblings, numbering in the thousands at supper time.

 

 When we were young, and still had a sense of humor, our lives, to me, were great.  I never felt “black” or “ignorant” untill I went to school and “learned” of all my “inadequacies” concerning the brilliant shine of my skin.

 

There, within the love and warmth of this great family, there was “perfection”.

 

They tell the story of long ago (sorry mom) of how a large group of them (not including their many friends of the community) were WALKING to school one day, talking laughing, being themselves (entertaining) and eating newly plucked crab apples from one of their MANY fruit trees, when the white children came RIDING by on (they) schoolbus.

 

 As the bus blew dustily past them, a white kid rolls down his window, sticks his head out and spits at them.(!)

 

Moma (being My Moma and not even knowing it yet) IMMEDIATELY flings a crab apple into the bus.  The many baseball games played in their yard on Sundays as kids had given my momma an arm the MBL would be envious of today because the crab apple whizzed right through the open window, straight up the aisle, and splat! exploded into a green mess beside the window (and head) of the startled bus driver. 

You go MA!

Confused as to the effect and not the cause of the crime, the bus driver slams on his breaks bringing now a cloud of Virginia red clay to dance in the air and smack the faces of  the, now stopped in their tracks children, on their way to school. 

 

A Big, (white) now red faced man swung open the bus doors stepping  down, hands on hips, bellows loudly,

 

WHO THREW THAT CRAB APPLE IN THE BUS! He demanded, holding ample hips.

 

At once {frightened, still to this day, one crab in the barrel in the crowd} offered up my mother’s name.

 

Behind her {her brother}, proclaimed,

 

THEY SPAT ON US.

 

Given this –piece of forensic evidence-, the bus driver spoke, (dropping hands from heavy hips)

 

Well, I tell you what, -THE NEXT TIME ONE OF THEM SPITS ON YOU I’M GONNA STOP THE BUS AND MAKE’EM walk, AND DON’T YOU THROW NO MORE APPLES IN THAT BUS!

 

Well, as the story goes, weeks passed without further incidence, however, Time and Attention were not fully paid, when one day, again, a window rolls up and a wad of spit lands, again, at the feet of children, on their way to school.

 

Immediately, a big heavy foot slams rubber to metal and the bus comes to a screeching halt of iron, flying white folks and dust.  The doors swing open and a crest-fallen young white boy emerges hands- in- pockets and walks drudgingly, alone, down the road. 

 

Never molested again by spit on their way to school, most went on to gain their prospective (and much coveted) sixth grade education. 

 

“Ignorant” by standards my mother -didn’t raise no fools-. 

 

I can see my mother, standing there in her laced up boots of the 1920’s, clean dress with ribbons in her hair, teeth clenched, fist balled and working up a “black sweat”.

 

  All the while knowing her rightful “place”, at the Table of Kings and Queens. That day, she has taught us, too, she REFUSED to give an inch to the “Study of Stupidity”. 

Surrounded (supported) by her family my mother drew a line in the proverbial Virginia sand, eh, ur, red clay that day.

 

Proud, beautiful and strong, still, at the age of 83, my mother has been the greatest influence in my life and in the lives of many others.

 

This past year my mother had the opportunity to meet Nelson Mandela just before he celebrated his 90^th birthday.  She spoke to him of her own “private battles regarding racism in America” –“America Denied Me an Education”, she told him.  I am sure, as sure as I am black that  HE came away “enlightened” by my mother.

So, the next time you see a (“green”) apple in the grocery store, think of

 

How My Mother Began Her Own Civil Rights Movement

(with a crab apple).

 

And start one of your own.

 

Stop Complaining!  Start A Revolution!!!!

 

A Group Project-

http://burlingtonaa.wetpaint.com/?t=anon

 

contact:

hattiestrange092@gmail.com

One Response »