Saying Goodbye to Old Friends: ATribute to Breast Cancer Survivors from a 2X Survivor Part 2

As promised, I am journaling my second experience with breast cancer. After the initial shock of learning that I would have a mastectomy wore off, I weighed (no pun intended) my options. I was told that I could have reconstructive breast surgery. Well, as much as I hate to admit it. I did absolutely no research. I went blindly to my appointment with the plastic surgeon (we are now pals) expecting to get the bad cut off and a new one magically made.

“Barbara, are you ready for your prosthesis?” Huh? What? “Nooo…” I was in shock. I heard Charlie Brown “wah-wahs”. Something about not a good candidate, previous radiation, won’t heal properly…wah-wah! Tears--lots of them. The first I had ever shed either time when discussing cancer. I wiped them away, and with a sad smile, I mumbled something about vanity. I finally said that there was no need to stare at one another; I would just have to accept it. I did hang my head, though. Just as I was leaving, my surgeon glanced at those two pillows in front of me. “Let me get your measurements.” So, he did. After some thought, he informed me that I would be able to have an implant. A brief thought of foreign objects in body…bad implants….wah-wah. “Okay!”

Never once did I research anything about implants. So the big day came. I was on the operating table for over 6 hours. Two surgeons worked on me like a professional tag team, while I drifted into another world. I had a mastectomy. The surgeon left enough skin (being well-endowed worked in my favor) for the implant. Don’t want to be lop-sided. So, a breast reduction was performed on the other side. My family and friends (ya gotta have your cheering section) were waiting for details. Surgery was fine. Here is her card with the serial numbers for her implant. Yep, just like an air bag. If it gets lost or stolen, deflates or inflates accidentally, I can get a replacement! Who knew? One night in the hospital, then home. Do these exercises, blow in this contraption, and see you next week. Oh, pain medication—take as needed.

Wow, I had cancer. I had two breasts that I came in this world with, and in six hours all of that had changed. Now, I have a foreign object in my body on one side, and a much smaller breast on the other. What an odd feeling thing this new boob is! How does Hollywood do it? My own breast is so soft and natural. Even in my youth, I never experienced this type of firmness. I explored the touch and sensation of both for comparison. Strange, very strange. This has made me think about those who have had extensive plastic surgery. How does their face feel? In fact, can they feel anything?

Well, this summer should be fun. Yes! Sundresses here I come. Well, not exactly, because ten days later, I was in the hospital with pneumonia. Three days later, I was back home. Six days later, back in—infection? Not sure-IV’s and antibiotics. HOME! But, in two days I was back in the hospital. It seems that fluid was collecting around the implant. Nooo! More tears-real ones and lots of them. I was so weary from the pain, and the pneumonia. I was short on energy, because I am still in school. So, I had come home and started cranking out papers to make up for lost time. And no, I did not breathe into that silly apparatus! I went for a walk, which I felt should suffice. Voila-pneumonia! Anyway back to my fourth visit. The implant was removed, the area was washed thoroughly and a larger implant replaced the old one. I am a warrior. I am never a victim-I survive. God is awesome!

So, today as I write these words, I still have one drip in and those strange healing sensations. The pain has substantially subsided. I rarely need a pain pill. My energy level is getting better. I have ventured outside for short periods. But, in my winter climate, the cold is not a friend to healing. So, I spend a great deal of time inside. I see the surgeon weekly. That is why we are buddies, now. I have a home health nurse, who in all of my stubbornness, I did not want. I have to admit, that each time I went into the hospital after the pneumonia bout, she initiated the visit. She has been instrumental in my journey to healing.

I am somewhat introverted right now. I screen my calls, much to the dismay of my diligent friends. My mother wants me to talk to everyone who calls. I prefer music and my laptop. Every phone conversation lasts much longer than I intend to talk. I love my friends. I miss them. However, I really need this time with myself. A lot has happened to me. I need to be with this new emerging person. I want to be with her—alone. I am asked often what I need. Food, water and shelter. I love the cards, prayers, and the posies my neighbors placed on my porch. I love flowers for the living-never get enough! My dog loved the walks friends shared with her. My mother has appreciated trips to the market. I think it is wonderful to be loved, cared for and about. These are the times when you see who is there through sick and sin. And, I have seen.

This is the holiday season. I won’t be shopping for gifts. I cannot prepare the big holiday dinners. I won’t be decorating the tree. I have not seen my father in the nursing home for over a month. I miss him. I love that man. So much of me is him. He would be right here seeing what he could do, picking my spirits up and cheering me on. I have to take that knowledge, and fight the good fight. I know I will—I am.
What do I need? To embrace all that I am meant to be. That, a car and some cash! So, now you know. Stay tuned.

Saying Goodbye to Old Friends: ATribute to Breast Cancer Survivors from a 2X Survivor

The strongest women I know have survived and toppled some obstacles in this life.  We’ve loss friends, parents, spouses, and even children. The longer you have a friend, the more familiar you become with them, and the more you miss them. I will miss the friend I have known for over fifty years. The friend that nursed my daughter, cushioned the heads of friends and lovers, and softened the embrace of many.

My daughter, my legacy, was nineteen and twenty-three at the time of my diagnoses. Yes, I survived four years between diagnoses, and now as I type this I am waiting to sacrifice my friend to save my life. I have received a truck load of advice and well wishes. My “sisters” older and younger have been through some stuff, so they do have some wisdom to impart. However, a loss is very personal. No one can define it for you, because it is a revelation that something or someone you once knew, will no longer exist in your life taking with it the purpose served and the meaning you gave it. A VOID. VACANCY, ABSENCE…

What are even more descriptive are the sensual connotations that are associated with breasts. I have been known as well-endowed for over 30 years. Now, my 38F’s will be reduced to a minimum. Even as my surgery draws near, I am still contemplating requesting a double mastectomy. For even in my moments of hopeless vanity, I want to live for myself and my family. I don’t want to learn in three, four or twenty years that the cancer has returned. Every place that I have had a growth, I have had it removed, not just the lump, the organ!  I never mourned the loss of any of those lifelong friends, but my “boobs” have been a calling card, and an unwritten muse for others!

I will miss my friend. I am already mourning the loss. But, I am not so stupid to miss the opportunity to celebrate my new life without it. What I think about has been thought about by many before me, and will be contemplated by those who take this journey after me. I want to be desirable inside and outside. Right now, I am not dating. So, I wonder (even before this) will I find that man who loves all of me? Oh, I know the “you’ll find the person who loves you for what and who you are…the person God has in store for you”. However, to say that I don’t think about my chances would be a lie. Male and female friends have reaffirmed my inner and outer beauty, but that special someone has eluded me.  Yes, I will miss my friends. They have swallowed gallons of talcum powder, anti-perspirant, perfume, and poured out just as much perspiration. They have floated in baths, pools, and strapless bras. They have been uplifted and down-trodden.  They have been cumbersome. I even sought to have them downsized, but was told that because of the radiation, I was not a good candidate. So, I smiled, patted them and said, “C’mon!” And away we went.

Now, the time has come to say goodbye, and it is hard. Not the most difficult thing I have ever done, but definitely permanent. My daughter has mourned a little for her old friends too. Yet, we both know that the blessing of being able to embrace each other a little longer is the blessing. She is my legacy. I owe her a gallant ride. More importantly, I need to do what one of my sisters suggested. I need to start anew. I need to re-invent Barbara. I need to redefine what I think my true beauty is all about, and do it for me and no one else.

For those who are self-described “boob men”, I can tell them where they can be bought.  My daughter’s nursing days are long gone, and I still give great hugs! I will soon be able to wear the sundresses I wanted to wear every summer, but was always too large to orchestrate the fashion statement. I will lose weight instantly, because it was estimated my friends were approximately ten extra pounds. I won’t hear the extra flap when I jump, and they won’t land 10 minutes after I do anymore. Yet, just because I complained about them won’t make my loss less emotional. It may make the new me more palatable, though. I’ll just need to embrace and love her. I will keep you posted throughout this new journey. Peace.

Gossip and Other Nasty Germs

My mother is the “Queen of Expressions”. They aren’t usually originals, but she states them so often you’d swear she authored them. One of them is about pointing out the twig in another person’s eye when you have a log in your own.

We are facing a time when people are progressively rude, disrespectful and cruel. AND, I have never seen so many experts. Folks know how to solve everyone’s problem, but they can’t fix what ails them. In the past week, I have heard some of the most remarkable comments made by intellectuals, followed by expert opinions. Idiots are rampant. They are teaching our children, birthing our babies, feeding our spirits on Sundays, and calling us “friend”. Even when they don’t call us friend they lie about the reasons. Each of us was given a life to live--that’s one life, not yours and someone else. So why is your scoop in my sand pail, again?

Idiots see fault in everyone who doesn’t agree with their thwarted upbringing. Did you know you couldn’t order prime rib with a debit card? Nope, cash and carry. However, it is quite acceptable to keep company with someone who verbally abuses you, humiliates you in public and private, and makes it known that you mean nothing to them but the distinction of being first one you allowed to tap and slap you.

What do you do when a person is hurting or having a difficult time? That’s right kick ‘em, kick ‘em hard! Next, criticize them; tell them how poorly they are living their life. In fact, show them by your sterling example. Show them the men you are dating, let them meet your upstanding family—every member not just some of them. Imagine them being a fly on the wall of your life. Can you still point your finger so well?

I have heard people say, “I’m in it for the long haul…” The long haul was a short tow to the corner, and then a careless dump! When the load gets heavy, they are ready to lighten their cargo in a hurry. Not everyone is equipped to deal with burdensome relationships, but why is it necessary to spit upon, kick or punch the person? And what joy comes from it? “Hmph! I bet they don’t think they are so much now. Look at him! Yeah…” That sounds like someone who is in it for the long haul, doesn’t it? Friends are in for the long haul! They iron things out. They discuss their issues with each other not everyone else. AND they learn that while they may not always agree, friends don’t bring harm, and they try to prevent harm from coming to friends. Friends communicate, they share, they heal together, and they care about the well-being of the other.

Have you ever stopped to think about a person who would talk about your friend to you? A friend who has brought them no harm and who has brought no harm to you either? Now, let me set the record straight. Do I gossip? Um- hmmm! I am not going to try to justify or qualify it. I will say this, once a co worker made a snide comment about someone I considered a friend. I stopped her by saying the person was my friend, and I would not entertain the conversation. Another time a dear friend revealed a person’s negative opinion of me. Two of my friends attempted to show this person how ridiculous they were being, to no avail. They have remained friends with this person. What I admire about my FRIENDS is that neither of us is allowed to bad mouth the other. Perhaps that quality of friendship is dead. I hope not.

I remember being told a negative comment someone made about me, and asking the person why the others felt comfortable making that remark to them. Silence. I knew why. It was because they either joined in or refused to defend me. Defense makes the offender uncomfortable. I cannot nor do I try to defend those who have been callous, taken advantage of or done malicious acts toward my friends. Even in those instances, there is an agreement among my friends that the person will not be discussed, period. Weed out those gossiping, mess starting people quickly even if you have to lose a few casualties (the neutral folks). No one should constantly be in the midst of negative vibes, false friendships, and miserable folks who could care less if you swim, but smirk when you sink a little. Karma whips you around and beats you down like a drum in a metal band. And as I said when I was a little girl, “God sees you.” So, if you’re bad enough to stand your gossiping mean spirit ground with God, have at it. Go for it! Stay wrong, and watch out for that bolt of lightning.

Insidious individuals breed best when the environment is warm and friendly to them. A person who is inherently vicious is not a friend—to anyone. I wrote about the snake before. Watch them. They innocently “make mention” of something they are “disturbed” about. They usually preface it with a “little talk” they want to have or they want to “ask you something”. What they really want is to use their great manipulative ability to plant a seed, and then return to water and fertilize it from time to time. Since it is human nature to love a good story, most of us are great audiences for the manipulator.

Gossip is like a nasty disease that spreads, lies dormant, and then comes back for the kill. If, in your pious moment you think you have earned the right to treat another human shabbily, slink over to the mirror and come face-to-face with who you really are inside. You may deceive others, because some people like to gossip when they are the expert not the victim. However, see yourself for who you really are, it won’t be the eyes of an innocent individual. Gossip is a negative habit that mysteriously feeds the warped ego of the gossiper. Somehow we “know” something or think we know something, or “want” to know something, or want folks to “think” or “feel” the same way we do.

Most of us can spell hypocrite, learn to recognize it in the flesh. So, if the opportunity comes to help someone with your pearls of wisdom, FIX YOURSELF UP FIRST! After that, you won’t need to judge or tear someone else down, because you’ll be fine! In the meantime, I’ll be over here nursing the log in my own eye.

One Blade at a Time

By Barbara K.

Last summer, God and I were hanging out together. I didn’t feel His presence at first, though. He was just observing. Anyway, I have this piece of a gas lawnmower. You have to prime it at least 10 (that’s t-e-n) times more than the 5 times it supposedly takes to start. After that you have to pull the string at least 2-3 times. Well, that’s what I do now, after last summer! Before God and I had this moment in the yard, I had to prime that mower at least 25 times, and pull that string almost as many times.

Well, it was a warm, sunny summer day, and I thought my 80+ year old mom would enjoy sitting outside. So, I invited her to keep me company. I even brought the dog outside. I started pulling that string. I pulled it so many times…I jerked it, pulled it hard, pulled it gradually, and pulled it to the side. Finally, my arm and chest muscle were aching. (Those of you who are breast cancer survivors might understand that muscle pain). My mother was looking on, not saying much. Finally, she offered to try. She is slightly over 5’ 5”, and only slightly over 130 lbs. She has poor balance and equally poor eyesight. She’s had several strokes, too. So, I said, “Sure!” Yep, I let her go for it!!! She couldn’t even pull the string out all of the way! Wish I could see your faces.

After resting, and thinking that all of the neighbors were standing in their windows with big grins, I got up to try again. I bent over, put my hand on the cord, looked at my dog, Coltrane and asked, “Coltrane, do you pray? If you do, then pray!” Pulled the string, and vroooooooooooom! I was smiling and mowing.

When it was time to mow the back lawn, I refused to turn the temperamental piece of metal off. I mowed up the middle of the driveway to the back! And I looked at that grass standing almost a foot! I heard the voice of one of the many handymen that had offered their unsolicited expertise. “You’re going to have to chop that grass down with a sickle before you can mow it.” Well, I didn’t have a sickle. I started in, and the mower cut off. My mother had taken a seat. I knew what she was thinking. I just didn’t want her to say it. “Don’t you think that’s too much for you?” Guess what? She didn’t say it.

I started the mower again, first try. I realized the tall grass was clogging the blade. I had an idea. If I mowed a little, then backed up, and mowed a little more, the lawn mower would stay on. But I looked at the space, and my heart sank. It really looked overwhelming. It was too much for me to do. Yet I felt a determination, an urging force, and I continued with my idea. Blade by blade, patch by patch, and section by section---going back and forth. Suddenly, I was done! I turned around to rejoice. My mother and the dog had gone back into the house. I wanted to share this God epiphany!

Drenching with the sweat of my message, I ran in the house and called my Aunt Lois long distance. It was the topic of her Sunday school lesson the next day. God had me to call my mother outside to witness the lesson. He worked with me from the front of my house, up the driveway, and into the backyard. He placed his finger over my mother’s lips. She was not to discourage me. God said He had “this!” I doubted at first, but I held onto that mower, and little by little I conquered that yard. When I looked at it all, it was overwhelming. However, when I released my doubt, and replaced it with belief, I won.

“I can’t see how I’m going to do this Lord. It’s too much!” He tells us to relax, because He knows exactly how we can do it. All we have to do is hold His hand. “My” idea was My Father speaking just to me. My epiphany was understanding what God was saying to me. “Not my will but Thy will…peace be still…only believe…all things are possible.” My dear mother? She was to watch. “Watch Me work with her. You can learn too. She will do this as soon as she realizes she only has to handle what is right there before her. But, she has to have faith that it can be done.”

When our life is too complex, when we are overwhelmed with adversity, burdens, and life; we can help ourselves by remembering “only one blade, one patch, one section, holding His hand”. Let me tell you, that day my hand was calloused from gripping that mower! There is nothing wrong with holding God’s hand firmly! Don’t let it go! Not for one minute. If you let go of the handle of the mower, it CUTS OFF! If you let go of God’s Hand, how are you going to keep going?
I’m learning.

The Cry I Never Heard Still Haunts Me

In the distance beyond the smiles and giggles
Beyond that which use to be
I hear a soul crying, but I never hear the shrill that still chills
ME

Throughout the day, amidst the intellectual chats, over the booming hip hop music
In the shrills of the classical violin
In the soul of the sax
It is calling
ME

Through the morning air, evening coolness, midnight moon
The slow murmuring of an unsettled damaged spirit haunts
Through the wetness on my face, my racing heart, my labored breath, I covered my ears
For a swift minute and never heard what I should have heard
So I did
NOTHING
And it still haunts ME.

I can only Hold her
As I should have done when she silently called out to
ME
But I never heard
She is still
But I still
Hear
What I never heard before
And
It
Haunts
Me.

I am the survivor of domestic violence. As a result, my daughter is a survivor of incest. We are two of many victims of a man who is incapable of love or fatherhood.

Tribute to My Dad

Written Wednesday, April 8, 2009 at 12:31am










He's 87 now. I still sit in his lap & try to "dance with my father".


A friend wrote a poignant letter about the importance of the role of the father. He did not, by any means, slight the role of the mother. He merely spoke from his own experience, and the significant role he has within his family. I applaud his ability to recognize and celebrate his role. I, like many who responded to Carl, am a daddy's girl. I could have easily been the woman Carl warned brothers about. The one with “daddy issues”.

Early on, I sought the approval of my strict, hard working father. Instead I was fearful and unsettled by his strictness, but flattered by his admiration of my brain power. I was self-conscious of what he thought of me physically (we are twins), but ecstatic when he complimented me. Carl is so right in his perception. For women, our dad is our first boyfriend in a healthy way.

I use to write my father letters from MSU questioning his love, wondering if I disappointed him. He would write me saying, "Little one, daddy loves you." We did dance together, in the living room, and at parties. We were in fashion shows together. Somehow, I thought I was a mama's girl. You know my shopping buddy, my buffer, the one who loved me through it all. My mother was down for the cause!

I did not see what others saw-I was a "daddy's girl" all along. When I got it, when I really got it, I was attending a golf banquet with my parents (during my college years). My father introduced me to a colleague. The man just smiled, "So, you're Kellom's daughter, the one that goes to Michigan State." I remember being shocked that he talked about me. How stupidly blind I had been. That man stood in line with me to go to the Motown Revue. He sat through a Michael Jackson concert. He bought me sacks of White Castle hamburgers. He even put Dot & Etta shrimp in my locker for lunch a couple of times. He was the Bomb Diggity! And yes, we danced together.

Once, he said to me, "Barbara, don't look for me." I think that is the only time I would have to disagree with my father. If you have a good father role, you should at least look for that. I still remember being in high school at the mall with friends, when once again I was amazed to have to walk from the parking lot to the store entrance. My father always dropped his girls off at the door. He backed down to the sidewalk so that we would not step on the neighbors grass when entering or exiting the car. He opened every single door I walked through when I was with him.

I did follow my father's instruction literally. I did not look for him. I did not get anything like him. And it almost cost my daughter's life. But, she had a GREAT granddaddy. From that relationship, she has been able to pick up the pieces.

My father is 87 years old and in a nursing home. He cannot always remember my name, but he can still dance, and laugh. We still spar, and I try to hold my fist like he taught me. He is still proud of me. The father-daughter role cannot be taken lightly. It does indeed shape the relationships to come. And, every moment that I can "dance with my father again" is so very cherished.

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A Womb Does Not a Woman Make

The other day I received an email from a dear friend, my sister really. I warned her it would be in my next blog. I have included her comment.

"Had my yearly checkup last Friday and was told that my fibroid that's been in my body for the past two years had grown to the size of a grapefruit and it needs to come out....let's schedule a partial hysterectomy. Now, me and my doctor have already discussed my options about a year ago when the fibroid was much smaller. I elected to continue on as usual because I could deal with the heavy periods and cramps. But when he put it in such a matter-of-fact manner...I felt violated....:) Then he said you will be off work at least 4 weeks. I perked up and asked for an additional six weeks. He replied that he did not see a problem with that. I perked up a bit. As I was leaving the office I was in a fog, traumatized because I wasn't expecting that and the procedure has such finality (is there such a word?) to it. Part of my body will be permanently removed...no longer able to have children...not that I was going to...but I'm still vain enough to want that option in my old age:)

On the other hand, I will no longer have those awful periods and headaches and cramps that go along with it....on the other hand...it is the end of childbirth;and for some reason I am quite sad about that Barbara. What is that? ...Go figure the irony of my emotions."

I wrote: I now write a blog...this will be my next topic.

Our ovaries, womb, fallopian tubes are a part of our womanhood. We have allowed that to define us as woman. When I got mine in 2006, right after I completed my radiation for breast cancer, I was told by a female friend (who is much older than I) that I was no longer a woman. I looked at her with that smile that has made many think that I am easy going. I gave a slight giggle. I was thinking, "idiot"! You see my curves, my baby, these boobs, my way of being me like nobody else can be? I am a woman.

Yes, it is a loss. We mourn it, but unlike some, yours bore a beautiful piece of fruit. Ha! Less of a woman? Look at you. You are beautiful. Babies? You've been there, done that! The uterus is not THE definition of a wo-man. It is part of you. If you lose a limb, you are still hu-man. Look at what you are losing hys-terectomy. Give it back to HIM. You used it, it served you. You don't need it anymore.

A womb does not a woman make...You are a woman from your head to your manicured toe nails. Now, you will be a free woman like me. Forget the cramps, the tampons, napkins, Midol, bathroom trips...Welcome your freedom. Yes, you cannot have another baby, but a lot of folks with wombs couldn't have one. They are STILL women!

By the way, the woman that made the comment is petite, overtanned, her knees have four folds of skin, and her voice is raspy from smoking. She has had several cosmetic "adjustments" to make her beautiful and womanly. As she ages, she will have all of them, but they will be inside of folds and bends. Woman? Yeah, but what does it matter?

Embrace the free you! There are websites for women to discuss hysterectomies. Find one, and chime into the discussion or enjoy a laugh or cry!

Her response:
"Girl.....that was beautifully stated & I feel 100% better!!!! You are amazing with words Barbara. Love ya."

I love her, too!

-Written by Somebody's daughter, somebody's relative, a few folks friend, and a young woman's Mother

Life without D.R.A.M.A. = Dysfunctional Relationships Attracting Maximum Attention

For those of us who are Christians, we might remember that Adam and Eve goofed when instead of maintaining their relationship with God; they allowed the snake to drop in. That brings us right about where we are today. We allow snakes to slither in from all sources all dressed up, some in jeans, fur coats, bikes, limos, suits, Louis Vuitton, Dolce & Gabbana, Kmart’s private brand, or flip flops. Man, woman, boy or girl, afroed, weaved, blonde, blue-eyed, green eyes, blind eyes, it is still a slithering snake.

The snaking is cunning, charming and sucks you right into their dysfunctional relationship to attract the maximum attention possible. Poor Adam got so confused, he didn’t blame the snake. So, who did he blame? His rib---Eve. The relationship would not have gone sour if Adam and Eve had not lost focus of the relationship they were suppose to have with God. The obedience and trust they were to have in God, got displaced on a snake. Now, in modern day one of my girls would say, “Let him slither away with the snake….” But, in this case the snake got to his soul mate first. So, Adam was blindsided, caught up in the emotion, brought into the middle of a conversation his mate had with a snake. We know who the snake represented. So, Adam (who supposedly had his own mind), followed the snake (via Eve). He was enticed, and charmed. She spun Adam’s head around like a spinning top. He tasted the fruit-he loved the fruit. He got caught with the worm in his mouth. What happened next is the DRAMA. Blaming Eve, he spewed unkind, thoughtless and disrespect; and both were ashamed before God because they were not focused on the real relationship.

Adam should have walked away. The snake caught Eve in the Garden of Eden, alone. Adam already had his instruction. Eve knew better, but…that snake caught her on the wrong day! So, Adam succumbed and lowered himself. Eve succumbed and lowered herself. The snake? Got belly duty for life! However, it is still slithering in and out of lives, friendships, relationships, and finances. Happy to mess up, cause a scene, maybe call in more snakes for back up. One thing that is consistent about the snake, it recoils after the kill-snickering from the uproar it caused. So guess who’s left?

We are so much larger than the snake physically, yet we are so weak to its confusion, charm, and deception. Instinctively, we know what is wrong, because Christian or not we are born with a conscious unless we have a psychological deficit. That’s another day. We can smell the stench of drama brewing. Some folks are drama magnets. It is up to the rest of us to determine that we do not want to be in the drama stew. We don’t know what or who is down there in that pot of drama. And folks that readily walk into it, and call other people into it are the snakes in this story. Drama is not drama without an audience. Lots of noise, clapping, tongues wagging, and stupid comments-then the snake slithers to the next victim.

You cannot hide evil, a liar, or a coward. They will all come to surface. But, don’t get confused about who’s who---do a background check on the snake. Biblically, it is in Proverbs 23:7, "For as he thinks within himself, so he is." Our actions show the true content in our hearts. However, before we grab a fig leaf to hide ourselves, and start pointing, turn to the snake…s/he is getting away. The snake will let you take it in and as the song said, “…shut up…you knew I was a snake before you took me in!” A boa constrictor caresses you tightly before the kill. Wherever there’s drama, there’s the snake.

by Somebody's daughter, a few folks friend, and a Mother of a young woman.

Psalm 52: “…Why do you boast in evil, O mighty man? Your tongue devises destruction, like a sharp razor, working deceitfully. You love evil more than good, lying rather than speaking righteousness. Selah you love all devouring words, you deceitful tongue.”

Have We Taught Our Young People to be Supportive and Celebrate Each Others Success? By Barbara K.

I only gave birth to one child, but I claim many. They are uniquely talented, intelligent and driven individuals. Recently, I had the great joy of hanging out with two of them (one of them my own daughter, the other, my son of another mother-John), as we attended the performance of another talent—Monica Blaire.


Brittni & Blaire (aka Monica Blaire-performer extraordinaire) Christmas circa 1994

She is an extraordinary talent, with a broad music appeal. Jazz, hip-hop, ballad, gospel, or your pleasure, Ms. Monica Blaire can bring it to the table and spoon feed your soul. Her voice is magical, and she is truly high energy and magnetic on stage. Needless to say, I enjoy her music. More importantly, she is a member of our Detroit community.

I am personally aware of so many young people who are attempting to make a difference, deliver a message, change this society, uplift mankind, and carry out a legacy. When I am able, I try to be where ever I am invited to lend my support. I think that is customary for my generation. We support our young people. We want them to flourish.

In my mind, every event that a young adult hosts, performs in, chairs, or is involved in should be overflowing with other young people. Yet, it is seldom the case. Oh, a few of the “girls” or the “boys” will stop by, but I don’t see them rallying to support one another. Why? Is it jealousy or apathy? And please, they are not too busy. Young people are out in droves at the bars, major social events, the malls, and major conferences. They do what they want to do, and go where they want to go.



Brittni (child advocate & speaker) & John Marsh (young sports writer) @ her keynote presentation.

So, it made me think. As older adults, do we support each other? Do we go to events because they are high profile, “who’s who”, or do we go where we are needed? Are we really supporting causes or the appearance? I see talented young people pleading to sell a CD, garner support of charity, gain community support, and often the results are a tug of war of the same adults. Well, as I often say, “Mama is tired.” This might not be clear to young people yet. But, if they don’t start supporting each other, the support is not going to be there for them. You have got to reach beyond your circle, because you will need them to return the favor.

This generation of college graduates represents the new adults. They aren’t children anymore, waiting to receive an allowance to buy a CD, go to a concert, or be driven to an event. I would like to think graduation and the wedding will be the last major events where our support has significance. Everything else that this group of young adults involve themselves in should be well supported by their peers! They should be supporting each other politically, socially, economically, and psychologically. Because --“mama is tired.”

To the young people: You have each other. You have buying power. You have a voice. You are intelligent. It is time for you to step up and take charge. Attend your friends, associates, and acquaintances functions. Start building your own support network. Whatever anyone over 40 does for the under 30 group, should be gravy. We should be seat fillers on Oscar night, not the whole audience. I hope we have not been a superficial example of support for you. I hope you see us with our sleeves rolled up, attending things that aren’t always A-list. I hope you see us running camps, serving soup, handing a plate to a homeless person, delivering a good meal to a sick friend, working the campaign of an underdog, supporting a local artist, and just being there.

Have we taught you how to support each other? Have we taught you how to be a part of a team, and not always the leader? Do you know how to pool your resources, and strengthen your presence by joining forces? Or do you think it’s all about you? I hope we have taught you the true meaning of community. Have you ever stopped to think what would happen if you banded together to support each other? The Metro-Detroit African-American community is not even six degrees of separation. It’s only three. Too close to isolate. You need each other to thrive. And you can thrive with mutual support. Why should only a few talented souls prosper, when each one of you can do it?

I hope we have taught you to go hear the young minister, performer, speaker, and buy the young author’s book. I hope you know that even eagles congregate from time to time. Yes, we wanted you to soar, but don’t forget to hold someone’s hand. You all need each other. ‘Cause baby, the collective mamas and daddys are tired! We will not, and do not want to stop supporting you! But, we have passed the torch. We just want to sit back and clap for you!!! Like I did at the Monica Blaire experiment! Well, I did a little more than clap.



Jonathan Edward Barlow announcing his bid for Detroit City Council 2009