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Haircut and Hookup

Storytime

Since we’ve been in California it has been an up and down saga trying to find a consistent barbershop. Finally, a friend made a recommendation that worked out really well. The barbershop is in a decent part of town, doesn’t smell like a mix of mild sauce and weed, nobody is peddling in fenced goods from the freights, extra ratchet music with more curse words than actual lyrics isn’t blaring through the speakers and the barber punctually keeps his appointments and doesn’t eat a four-piece wing while cutting hair. (Disclaimer, if you are not from Chicago and don’t understand what I just described, that’s cool but don’t judge my city because they conduct business a tad bit different than yours.) Another bonus to the barbershop is that my son gets exposure to black men. We live in an area of the city that is heavily Latino and outside of church, my son does not get exposure to a lot of black men. This unlike, when we lived in Chicago we lived in a predominately black community. So, it’s safe to say that this place is our newly adopted barbershop. 

On our first visit to the shop my son took a quick observation of the shop and whispered to me “Mom you can find a husband here.” I was so embarrassed and looked around to make sure that no one heard him. The second time he made some comments that escape my memory however, it was still something along the lines of aye girl if you gonna find a man the time is now. In an effort to lessen the pressure and guilt I was feeling from being borderline pimped out by my own son, so I sent my mom on haircut duty. That only lasted a few weeks because she went back to school and had classes on Saturday.

Recently, the heat has been on and again but this time he is getting more specific. He tells me as I sit three feet away from his barber that  I should date him. Now, his barber is attractive. I give them that much. But what he realizes there will be no mixing of business and pleasure in this household. So, as we leave the shop I tell him that I think his barber is married and he needs to drop this bright idea of his. He tells me “No he’s not.” I say, “How do you know”? He laughs, and I tell him that he doesn’t know that but he was going to ask him next time. The next appointment rolls around and I notice my son is being a little more chatty than usual and trying to insert his young self into adult conversation. He smiles at me which isn’t abnormal but I just mouthed “Be quiet” to ward off slick matchmaker tendencies that might have been stirred up.  When we got home later that day I was telling my mom and sisters about it and I asked him what he and the barber we’re talking about while he was in the chair. He said, “I ask *James if he was gonna put a ring on it.” See, I can’t with him.

Two weeks after that we were walking to the car from the barbershop and my son says, “Mom, it’s kind of weird to have my dad cut my hair”, I looked taken aback and he laughed. I laughed and then I told him to shut up and get in the car. Most people go to the barbershop for just a haircut but my kid is more concerned about getting me hooked up with somebody, anybody that will give him the little sister he has been harassing me about. Little does he know I’m fine with just him, plus I don’t want to go looking for a new barbershop.

 I mean we are from Chicago but we are not related to Bishop Magic Don Juan, so I need this little mister to slow up with his pimp gain and let Jesus take the wheel.

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Related Article: You Just Need to Get Pregnant

dating/love, life lessons, motherhood

You Just Need to Get Pregnant

One Saturday my son told me that “You just need to get pregnant.” This is not the first time he has said some variation of those words to me nor will it be the last I’m sure. Since he has been about four and a half, maybe five he has been on my back to get married and have more babies. He has been very consistent, like auntie Betty at the family reunion all in your mix asking  “When you gonna give that baby a brother or sister” persistent.

Over the last few months, he has decided that the barbershop will be the place of choice to recruit my breeding partner and better half. On our first visit to the shop my son took a quick observation of the shop and whispered to me “Mom you can find a husband here.” I was so embarrassed. I looked around to make sure that no one heard him. The second time he made some comments that escape my memory however, it was still something along the lines of  “Aye girl if you gonna find a man the time is now.” To lessen the pressure and guilt I was feeling from being borderline pimped out by my own son, so I sent my mom on haircut duty. That only lasted a few weeks because she started taking classes on Saturday.

Recently, the heat has been on and again but this time he is getting more specific. So, now I guess he’s thought about it and I can’t just marry anybody in the barbershop. He tells me as I sit three feet away from his barber that  I should date him. Now, his barber is attractive I’ll give him that. But what he doesn’t realize there will be no mixing of business and pleasure in this household. So, as we leave out of the shop I tell him that I think his barber is married and he needs to drop this bright idea of his. He tells me “No he’s not.” I say, “How do you know”? He laughs. I tell him that he doesn’t know anything, and he tells me he was going to ask him next time.

The next appointment rolls around and I notice my son is being a little more chatty than usual and trying to insert his young self into adult conversation with the fellas. He smiles at me which isn’t abnormal but I mouth “Be quiet” to ward off any slick matchmaker tendencies that might have been stirred up.  When we got home later that day I told my family about his latest escapade. My sister asked him what was he and the barber was talking about while he was in the chair. He said, “I asked *James if he was gonna put a ring on it.” See, I can’t with him (shaking my head while I type).

Two weeks ago, we were walking to the car from the barbershop and my son says, “Mom it’s kind of weird that my dad cuts my hair.” We both laughed and then I told him to shut up and get in the car. Most people go to the barbershop for just a haircut but my kid is more concerned about getting me hooked up with somebody, anybody that will give him the little sister and brother he has been harassing me about. Little does he know I’m fine with just him, plus I don’t want to go looking for a new barbershop. We are from Chicago but we are not related to Bishop Magic Don Juan, so I need this little mister to slow up with his pimp game and let Jesus take the wheel.

* Name was changed 

Update: Since the initial publishing of this post the barber has gotten married to someone else and it was not me.

Carry on and Live Shamelessly!

dating/love, motherhood, Story time

Why Black History Starts at Home

 

My son and I were on a recent yogurt date and I asked him what he knew about Black history month. Read the conversation below.

Me: Son what do you know about Black history month?

Son: It’s the month that we got free.

Me: Huh?

Son: (He looks a little confused) Is it when Abraham Lincoln freed the slaves?

Me: Abraham Lincoln did not free the slaves and don’t let me hear you say that again. Are you guys doing a Black history project or having a Black history assembly?

Son: No. I don’t think so.

We continue the conversation where I have to school him on Abe’s role in the Civil War and what the Emancipation Proclamation really didn’t do. I was disappointed but not completely surprised that after being a student in the public school system, for the past four years, in two major cities, this is all he recalls.  Which is almost laughable because American society has reduced Black history as importance of celebrating our contributions and now the few things they are teaching, they are giving out the wrong information.

This leads me to two points and one clever but serious suggestion.

We must teach our own kids

As a Black parent it is important that I make sure my son knows that our ancestral history in America may have begun in the bowels of slavery however, it stretches wider and goes deeper than most would like to acknowledge. It is no denying that we were an enslaved people however, next to slave put a comma and not a period. My son will learn that Black people were and still are queens, kings, inventors, scientists, writers, poets, musicians, scholars, actors, entrepreneurs, and the list goes on. Now we can include the distinguished honor of President.  We were not a people looking to be led because we were already leaders. Clearly, if we don’t teach our children, who will? We can’t continually expect the education system to accurately depict the truth, can we? If we do, Honest Abe is going to be doing a lot more than freeing slaves and killing vampires.

Stop with the family secrets

It is just essential that our children know their familial history too. Unlike, those that immigrate to this country it is hard for most of us to definitively trace our linage back several generations, for several reasons. However, we need to make sure we share the information we do know. I grew up in a southern household in the heart of the big city, where there were many secrets, things left unaddressed, and information that has been taken to graves all in the name of family.  The old heads thought they were doing the best to keep the family together but not realizing the generational effects these secrets, lies, and half-truths would have on the family.

Black History 365, Never!

In my opinion, learning, mentioning, or celebrating Black should not be condensed to one month out of a year. But I was thinking since it is too radical to actually celebrate it for…I don’t know 365 days a year, I have alternate solution. I think that only in the month of February, we should be allowed to use things like the stop light, eat peanut butter or peanut butter products, use refrigerators, or use any shape form or fashion of the beloved cell phone. That’s not to mention only listening to anything Beyonce or with drum beat or baseline for the next 21 days. If you don’t whip it, Nae- Nae, Twerk, or Dab by the 29th then you’ll have to wait until next year where there will only be 28 days to get all of this Black celebration in. I know too much, right? Please! Not enough.

Black is beautiful, 365!

Love black and Live Shamelessly!

life lessons, motherhood
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