My Seemingly Immortal Grief

I miss you, although truth be told I never had you to begin with....
Days, weeks, and months can go by without nary a thought of your missing presence in my life, then someone will tell me a story of their mother...the advice, the phone call, the offer of love...and my pain rears its ugly head again.

For some reason I was too much for you to love; you couldn't be there for my first words, steps, or first accident. You insisted that I refer to you by your given name "Tasha" for hearing my tiny child-like voice refer to you as Mommy was too burdensome...

So "Tasha" I grew without you there; a tree grew alone in Chicago, California, Atlanta, and it continues to grow in New York. There were times I wanted you there..Tasha or Mommy..I'm not sure. Did you know I graduated 8th grade when I was 12?...no one was there to congratulate me...Did you see me graduate high school when I was 16?..oh wait, not a single person attended on my behalf...it was embarrassing but I still walked...Where you at the hospital that night my head went through the windowshield?..,no, in fact no one was there...

Thanks for all of your advice on life, men, love, all the important things women share with their birthed doppelgangers. Your advisement came through all of your actions, or lack thereof. I made it through school, I'm not knocked up, I work for my living, on the other hand I am single, I can't remember the last time I told someone I love them, and I still haven't figured out where I'm supposed to live in this world; so I guess not all advice is good advice.

I want to believe that maybe one day I will stop caring, I will stop picking at this wound that can't seem to heal on its own. My logic leads me to want to hate you, but unfortunately its not allowed by God. So instead my heartache continues on, time hasn't really healed anything. In fact the older I get, the more I remember of you Tasha...I remember your expressions of love through your bitter punches, slaps, kicks, chokes, and my favorite the full-body pummeling sessions. I still have tokens of your affections on my scalp, legs, and back, emblazoned not only in my soul, but also its shell.

I hope my grief for you will not make me so miserable that I am incapable of trusting. I wish to be no part of "Tasha", I even gave away the name you hastily bestowed upon me that cold winter night some 20 something years ago.

I am now Phoenix. I am a fiery, colorful, creature, that many gaze upon in wonderment. Every now and again I build a nest around myself that I ignite and I burn into dark ashes. But each time I rise from these very ashes anew, reborn to live again. I have a wanderlust for the world and this new life, and I won't let you take that from me.

Where are we?

Perched atop my bed watching my nightly dose of sleepy-time tv (Roseanne, Seinfeld, SATC, etc..) when the lack of skin tones on my screen nudges my inner think-tank. For years the debate over the lack of Black people in the media has been a constant subject, though often times not spoken about publicly. These conversations tend to occur amongst black people while watching a tv or film they genuinely enjoy, but wondering aloud "why a Black person couldn't have portrayed the character just as well?"

The ad for "Away We Go" starring Maya Rudolph (Black & Jewish) & John Krasinski, is actually what got me going tonight. Although they don't reveal it entirely in the promo, it appears to be a film where the difference in race will not be a part of the central storyline. This is how it should be...at least in my opinion. Acting is just that, acting! Its make-believe, pretend, imagination, and while often times the coincidences are striking, that just lends itself to the old question of "life imitating art, or art imitating life?"

I understand we are a complex group of people with all of our varying skin tones, hair textures, body shapes, intellect levels, storied pasts, chaotic presents, and bright futures. However, with such varying characteristics to choose from, surely there must be some qualified thespians who can accurately portray these traits? Is it hard to believe that we could be those girls on "The Hills", those friends on "Sex and the City", those neighbors on "Everybody Loves Raymond"? Are we not students at similar schools as the one in "Gossip Girl"?

I know, I know some of you are thinking to yourselves "is she really writing this, the whitest black-girl I know"? Yes, that's a little backhanded "compliment" I receive regularly from people of all backgrounds. Ask yourself just how Black is Black? I mean are we questioning my actual percentage of heritage, because if so then all Black people have some explaining to do over their lack of 100% scores. Are we questioning my loyalty to being Black, because last time I checked it wasn't a group I elected to join, I'm a life-er. And if a person's "Blackness" were going to be quantifiable, shouldn't it be based on knowledge and power in regards to the culture?

Not only have I personally dug deep into the culture from the bowls of the Chicago projects, to the "Black Beverly Hills" of Ladera Heights, but I also have absorbed massive amounts of literature detailing the trail of the diaspora to modern day. However, I do still do not consider myself to be " black royalty" of pure black blood unspoiled with that of another heritage, nor do I consider myself a "black intellect" smarter than the average bear on all things related to Black Americans.

I'm just me; female, friend, Black, woman, American, girl, American Creole, gypsy

These things doth maketh parts of a Phoenix.....